POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
The maimed may pause and breathe,
And glance securely round.
The deer invites no longer
Than it eludes the hound.
And glance securely round.
The deer invites no longer
Than it eludes the hound.
LXXVI
I HAD been hungry all the years;
My noon had come, to dine;
I, trembling, drew the table near,
And touched the curious wine.
My noon had come, to dine;
I, trembling, drew the table near,
And touched the curious wine.
’T was this on tables I had seen,
When turning, hungry, lone,
I looked in windows, for the wealth
I could not hope to own.
When turning, hungry, lone,
I looked in windows, for the wealth
I could not hope to own.
I did not know the ample bread,
’T was so unlike the crumb
The birds and I had often shared
In Nature’s dining-room.
’T was so unlike the crumb
The birds and I had often shared
In Nature’s dining-room.
The plenty hurt me, ’t was so new,—
Myself felt ill and odd,
As berry of a mountain bush
Transplanted to the road.
Myself felt ill and odd,
As berry of a mountain bush
Transplanted to the road.
Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The entering takes away.
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The entering takes away.
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