large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb_90
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
As flavors cheer retarded guests With banquetings to be, So spices stimulate the time Till my small library. It may be wilderness without, Far feet of failing men, But holiday excludes the night, And it is bells within. AS FLAVORS CHEER RETARDED GUESTS WITH BANQUETINGS TO BE SO SPICES STIMULATE THE TIME TILL MY SMALL LIBRARY IT MAY BE WILDERNESS WITHOUT FAR FEET OF FAILING MEN BUT HOLIDAY EXCLUDES THE NIGHT AND IT IS BELLS WITHIN
 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. To-morrow, night will come again, Weary, perhaps, and sore. Ah, bugle, by my window, I pray you stroll once more! XLVII. I many times thought peace had come, When peace was far away; As wrecked men deem they sight the land At centre of the sea, And struggle slacker, but to prove, As hopelessly as I, How many the fictitious shores Before the harbor lie. XLVIII. Unto my books so good to turn Far ends of tired days; It half endears the abstinence, And pain is missed in praise. EFORE 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 TO MORROW NIGHT WILL COME AGAIN WEARY PERHAPS AND SORE AH BUGLE BY MY WINDOW I PRAY YOU STROLL ONCE MORE FORTY SEVEN I MANY TIMES THOUGHT PEACE HAD COME WHEN PEACE WAS FAR AWAY AS WRECKED MEN DEEM THEY SIGHT THE LAND AT CENTRE OF THE SEA AND STRUGGLE SLACKER BUT TO PROVE AS HOPELESSLY AS I HOW MANY THE FICTITIOUS SHORES BEFORE THE HARBOUR LIE FORTY EIGHT UNTO MY BOOK SO GOOD TO TURN FAR ENDS OF TIRED DAYS IT HALF ENDEARS THE ABSTINENCE AND PAIN IS MISSED IN PRAISE
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