large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb_86
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
To morrow, night will come again, Weary, perhaps, and sore. Ah, bugle, by my window, I pray you stroll once more! TO MORROW NIGHT WILL COME AGAIN WEARY PERHAPS AND SORE AH BUGLE BY MY WINDOW I PRAY YOU STROLL ONCE MORE
e Of its condensed despatch. Remorse is cureless, -- the disease Not even God can heal; For 't is his institution, -- The complement of hell. XLIV. THE SHELTER. The body grows outside, -- The more convenient way, -- That if the spirit like to hide, Its temple stands alway Ajar, secure, inviting; It never did betray The soul that asked its shelter In timid honesty. XLV. Undue significance a starving man attaches To food Far off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless, And therefore good. Partaken, it relieves indeed, but proves us That spices fly In the receipt. It was the distance Was savory. XLVI. Heart not so heavy as mine, Wending late home, As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune, -- A careless snatch, a ballad, A ditty of the street; Yet to my irritated ear An anodyne so sweet, It was as if a bobolink, Sauntering this way, Carolled and mused and carolled, Then bubbled slow away. It was as if a chirping brook Upon a toilsome way Set bleeding feet to minuets Without the knowing why. D WITH A MATCH PERUSAL TO FACILITATE OF ITS CONDENSED DESPATCH REMORSE IS CURELESS THE DISEASE NOT EVEN GOD CAN HEAL FOR TIS HIS INSTITUTION THE COMPLEMENT OF HELL FORTY FOUR THE SHELTER THE BODY GROWS OUTSIDE THE MORE CONVENIENT WAY THAT IF THE SPIRIT LIKE TO HIDE ITS TEMPLE STANDS ALL WAY AJAR SECURE INVITING IT NEVER DID BETRAY THE SOUL THAT ASK'D ITS SHELTER IN TIMID HONESTY FORTY FIVE UNDUE SIGNIFICANCE A STARVING MAN ATTACHES TO FOOD FAR OFF HE SIGHS AND THEREFORE HOPELESS AND THEREFORE GOOD PARTAKEN IT RELIEVES INDEED BUT PROCESSE THAT SPICES FLY IN THE RECEIPT IT WAS THE DISTANCE WAS SAVOURY FORTY SIX HEART NOT SO HEAVY AS MINE WENDING LATE HOME AS IT PASSED MY WINDOW WHISTLED ITSELF A TUNE A CARELESS SNATCH A BALLAD A DITTY OF THE STREET YET TO MY IRRITATED EAR AN ANODYNE SO SWEET IT WAS AS IF A BOBILINK SAUNTERING THIS WAY CAROLED AND MUSED AND CAROLED THEN BUBBLED SLOW AWAY IT WAS AS IF A CHIRPING BROOK UPON A TOILSOME WAY SET BLEEDING FEET TO MINUETS WITHOUT THE KNOWING WHY
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