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Quote by Patsy Clairmont

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I Grew Up Little: Finding Hope in a Big God

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Patsy Clairmont

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“Dès l’instant où la porte s’ouvrit, je me tendis. J’eus l’étrange sensation que l’air se modifiait et le silence éloquent de mon visiteur me fit hausser les sourcils. Allons bon, il me faisait la gueule ? — Si tu ne voulais pas me parler en venant ici, va jouer au muet ailleurs. Le ricanement grave qui emplit l’espace me fit sursauter. Je savais à présent que ce n’était pas Rafayel, mais un homme à qui je n’aurais jamais pensé adresser la parole, qui se tenait à quelques pas de moi. — Yphaëlle, tu es toujours aussi aimable quand tu t’adresses à une personne pour la première fois ? Je haussai les sourcils face à cette voix grave qui s’était enroulée autour de mon prénom. — Toujours, répondis-je en me retournant vers lui. Et tu débarques toujours à moitié vêtu dans la chambre d’une inconnue ? Il me fit un sourire malicieux qui creusa des fossettes dont je ne soupçonnais pas l’existence. — Toujours. À la bonne heure, un comique. Je détaillai l’homme, bien plus grand et mieux bâti que Rafayel et dont la peau était légèrement basanée, qui me faisait face et je croisais les bras. Il ne portait que l’ample pantalon en tissu noir qui montrait son appartenance à ma caste, laissant ainsi son ventre plat et bien sculpté à qui voudrait regarder.”

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“Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine, Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine! Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain, For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain. All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair! The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one, Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun; The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be, Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree. The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small, None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball; The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives, And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves; The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won, And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son. The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune, The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon, Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows, No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose. The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride, Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide; Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true, And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue. Now to the application, to the reading of the roll, To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul: Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone, Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap'st what thou hast sown. Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long, And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song? There's Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair, And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair! Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree; Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb, And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time! Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower, And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower — And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum — And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!”

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Book:The Complete Poems from Emily Dickinson:
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