large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_2_dickinson_64kb_14
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_2_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
To feel if blinds be fast, And closer to the fire Her little rocking chair to draw, And shiver for the poor, The housewife's gentle task. "How pleasanter," said she Unto the sofa opposite, "The sleet than May    no thee!" TO FEEL IF BLINDS BE FAST AND CLOSER TO THE FIRE HER LITTLE ROCKING CHAIR TO DRAW AND SHIVER FOR THE POOR THE HOUSEWIFE'S GENTLE TASK HOW PLEASANTER SAID SHE UNTO THE SOFA OPPOSITE THE SLEET THAN MAY NO THEE
r, And push it with my fingers next, For transport it be sure. And then I go the furthest off To counteract a knock; Then draw my little letter forth And softly pick its lock. Then, glancing narrow at the wall, And narrow at the floor, For firm conviction of a mouse Not exorcised before, Peruse how infinite I am To -- no one that you know! And sigh for lack of heaven, -- but not The heaven the creeds bestow. VII. Wild nights! Wild nights! Were I with thee, Wild nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds To a heart in port, -- Done with the compass, Done with the chart. Rowing in Eden! Ah! the sea! Might I but moor To-night in thee! VIII. AT HOME. The night was wide, and furnished scant With but a single star, That often as a cloud it met Blew out itself for fear. The wind pursued the little bush, And drove away the leaves November left; then clambered up And fretted in the eaves. No squirrel went abroad; A dog's belated feet Like intermittent plush were heard Adown the empty street. A LETTER'S THIS TIS FIRST I LOCK THE DOOR AND PUSH IT WITH MY FINGERS NEXT FOR TRANSPORT IT BE SURE AND THEN I GO THE FURTHEST OFF TO COUNTERACT A KNOCK THEN DRAW MY LITTLE LETTER FORTH AND SOFTLY PICK ITS LOCK THEN GLANCING NARROW AT THE WALL AND NARROW AT THE FLOOR FOR FIRM CONVICTION OF A MOUSE NOT EXERCISED BEFORE PERUSE HOW INFINITE I AM TO NO ONE THAT YOU KNOW AND SIGH FOR LACK OF HEAVEN BUT NOT THE HEAVEN THE CREEDS BESTOW SEVEN WILD NIGHTS WILD NIGHTS WERE I WITH THEE WILD NIGHTS SHOULD BE OUR LUXURY FUTILE THE WINDS TO A HEART IN PORT DONE WITH THE COMPASS DONE WITH THE CHART ROWING IN EDEN AH THE SEA MIGHT I BUT MOOR TO NIGHT IN THEE EIGHT AT HOME THE NIGHT WAS WIDE AND FURNISHED SCANT WITH BUT A SINGLE STAR THAT OFTEN AS A CLOUD IT MET BLEW OUT ITSELF FOR FEAR THE WIND PURSUED THE LITTLE BUSH AND DROVE AWAY THE LEAVES NOVEMBER LEFT THEN CLAMBERED UP AND FRETTED IN THE EAVES NO SQUIRREL WENT ABROAD A DOG'S BELATED FEET LIKE INTERMITTENT PLUSH WERE HEARD ADOWN THE EMPTY STREET
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