Poema 413, de Emily Dickinson
I never felt at Home—Below—-
And in the Handsome Skies
I shall not feel at Home—I know—
I don't like Paradise—
Because it's Sunday—all the time—
And Recess—never comes—
And Eden'll be so lonesome
Bright Wednesday Afternoons—
If God could make a visit—
Or ever took a Nap—
So not to see us—but they say
Himself—a Telescope
Perennial beholds us—
Myself would run away
From Him—and Holy Ghost—and All—
But there's the "Judgement Day"!
I shall not feel at Home—I know—
I don't like Paradise—
Because it's Sunday—all the time—
And Recess—never comes—
And Eden'll be so lonesome
Bright Wednesday Afternoons—
If God could make a visit—
Or ever took a Nap—
So not to see us—but they say
Himself—a Telescope
Perennial beholds us—
Myself would run away
From Him—and Holy Ghost—and All—
But there's the "Judgement Day"!
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