Cдержав в себе познанья бег,
Сдержав её наряда снег,
Та грудь, что любит,- спит...
За отлетевшим вздохом - час,
Лишь час за смертью вслед тянясь,-
"Вчера" настать годит!
Ужель вняла о сроках тех?..
Ужель глашатаем утех
Взошла на холм вдали?..
Не торопя ль, блаженства ждём?
Как знать, что всё ж непобеждён
Был этот павший лик?
О, если б мог отбыть любой
Победой н'евзятый с собой
На круг почёта царь...
Ясните кротость их одежд,
Не скравших царственных надежд -
Неясным для венца!
[David Preest:
The transitus or passing of the soul from this world
to the next was not just a peculiar interest of Emily
Dickinson’s. Its fascination and importance for everybody
of that time is described by Willa Cather in ch. 2 of
book 5 of her novel Death comes for the Archbishop.
‘In those days death had a solemn social importance.
It was not regarded as a moment when certain bodily
organs ceased to function, but as a dramatic climax,
a moment when the soul made its entrance into the next
world, passing in full consciousness through a lowly door
to an unimaginable scene. Among the watchers there was
always the hope that the dying man might reveal something
of what he alone could see; that his countenance, if not
his lips, would speak, and on his features would fall
some light or shadow from beyond……The dying murmurs of
every common man and woman were listened for and treasured
by their neighbours and kinsmen. These sayings, no matter
how unimportant, were given oracular significance and
pondered by those who must one day go by the same road.’
In this poem Emily sees before her mind’s eye the events
of ‘Yesterday.’ She has been delayed and arrives just too
late for the transitus of a dear friend. She sees the doubt
and helpless surrender still visible in her friend’s face,
and thinks that if only her friend could have been told
of the imminent arrival of Emily with her message that
dying ‘was a way of being born to the purple, a coronation
as much as a crucifixion,’ she might have had the look of
victory on her face instead. All others who at death are
not experiencing victory, should learn from the example of
her friend, and not give up hope of coronation too soon.]
**********************************
Delayed till she had ceased to know by Emily Dickinson
Delayed till she had ceased to know --
Delayed till in its vest of snow
Her loving bosom lay --
An hour behind the fleeting breath --
Later by just an hour than Death --
Oh lagging Yesterday!
Could she have guessed that it would be --
Could but a crier of the joy
Have climbed the distant hill --
Had not the bliss so slow a pace
Who knows but this surrendered face
Were undefeated still?
Oh if there may departing be
Any forgot by Victory
In her imperial round --
Show them this meek appareled thing
That could not stop to be a king --
Doubtful if it be crowned!