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adagio wrote:
> Imagine a woman for her whole life lived in solitue and had to bear the abject loneliness everyday, and to swallow the sorrow of being abandoned by her lover every minute, and yet never lost her will to create poetry, and never lost her merciful heart. Under same circumstance another woman can be easily trapped into self-pity and self-indulgence, but never Emily. She could easily choose suicide but she didn't. The world had done nothing merciful to her, but look how she returned the world with her beautiful poetry! This is what I call a beautiful soul, this is what I call a true poet. In her, we see how one's intellect and character save her from the abyss of misery.
>
> ****************************************
> This is my letter to the world,
> That never wrote to me, -
> The simple news that Nature told,
> With her tender majesty.
>
> Her message is committed
> To hands I cannot see;
> For love of her, sweet countrymen,
> Judge tenderly of me!
>
> ****************************************
> If I can stop one heart from breaking,
> I shall not live in vain;
> If I can ease one life the aching,
> Or cool one pain,
> Or help one fainting robin
> Unto his nest again,
> I shall not live in vain.
>
> ****************************************
> The brain is wider than the sky,
> For, put them side by side,
> The one the other will include
> With ease, and you beside.
>
> The brain is deeper than the sea,
> For, hold them, blue to blue,
> The one the other will absord,
> As sponges, buckets do.
>
> The brain is just the weight of God,
> For, life them, pound for pound,
> And they will differ, if they do,
> As syllable from sound.
鐜涢泤