We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer — Till it an Antique fashion shows — Like Costumes Grandsires wore. - Emily Dickinson

This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me, — The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.
Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons-
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes-

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us-
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are-

None may teach-Any-
'Tis the Seal Despair-
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air-

When it comes, the Landscape listens-
Shadows-hold their breath-
When it goes.'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death-

Плачът е нещо незначително -
въздишката - е нещо дребно.
Но от товаря им натрупан
човек умира постепенно.

превод : Цветан Стоянов