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.
*****
Dla piękna umarłam, ale było mnie mało
Upasowanej w grobie,
Gdy spoczął ten, co umarł za prawdę
W sąsiednim pokoju.
Gładko zapytał, dlaczego przegrana?
„Dla piękna”, odparłam.
„A ja dla prawdy — to jak dwoje;
My bratanki”, zagaił.
Jak krewniacy, kiedy spotyka ich noc,
Trwaliśmy przez izby w rozmowie,
Aż mech sięgnął naszych ust,
I zakrył imiona.
I do not think it is about the dead talking. The poem is more as a fairy tale that says beauty and truth can get along, yet they may be mortal, because our world is.
Ancients told such stories; we can compare the tale of Eurydice
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eurydice
Emily Dickinson made more such tales, please compare Life XX, I TASTE A LIQUOR NEVER BREWED, Love XIII, RENUNCIATION, or Love XIV, LOVE’S BAPTISM.
.Jerry
I definitely agree Emily Dickinson deserves praise.
But it's good to get translations of classics so that more people could read them.
Ron