“I have a brother and sister,” she wrote to her poetical preceptor, Thomas Wentworth Higginson; “my mother does not care for thought, and father, too busy with his briefs to notice what we do. He buys me many books, but begs me not to read them, because he fears they jiggle the mind. They are religious, except me.”
She described herself as “small, like the wren; and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr; and my eyes, like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.” “You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog large as myself.”
Author of over 1700 poems, only 10 were published in her lifetime, and these without her permission. After her death, however, her sister found and published the body of her work.
Part Four: Time and Eternity: Poem 10
I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty,” I replied.
“And I for truth,—the two are one;
We brethren are,” he said.
And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.
Tradução livre
Eu morri pela Beleza, fui porém mal
Posta na tumba
Quando um, que morreu pela Verdade, foi posto
Numa câmara contígua.
Ele questionou ternamente por que eu sucumbi
"Pela Beleza", respondi.
"E eu pela Verdade -- Ambas são uma --
Nós irmãos, somos." Ele falou --
E assim, como Parentes, reunidos à Noite --
Conversamos entre as câmaras --
Até que o musgo alcançasse nossos lábios --
E cobrisse nossos nomes --