large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb_3
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
LIV. PRAYER. Prayer is the little implement Through which men reach Where presence is denied them. They fling their speech By means of it in God's ear; If then He hear, This sums the apparatus Comprised in prayer. FIFTY FOUR PRAYER PRAYER IS THE LITTLE IMPLEMENT THROUGH WHICH MEN REACH WHERE PRESENCE IS DENIED THEM THEY FLING THEIR SPEECH BY MEANS OF IT IN GOD'S EAR IF THEN HE HEAR THIS SUMS THE APPARATUS COMPRISED IN PRAYER
k, homesick feet Upon a foreign shore Haunted by native lands, the while, And blue, beloved air -- This is the sovereign anguish, This, the signal woe! These are the patient laureates Whose voices, trained below, Ascend in ceaseless carol, Inaudible, indeed, To us, the duller scholars Of the mysterious bard! LIII. RETURNING. I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine And ask my business there. My business, -- just a life I left, Was such still dwelling there? I fumbled at my nerve, I scanned the windows near; The silence like an ocean rolled, And broke against my ear. I laughed a wooden laugh That I could fear a door, Who danger and the dead had faced, But never quaked before. I fitted to the latch My hand, with trembling care, Lest back the awful door should spring, And leave me standing there. I moved my fingers off As cautiously as glass, And held my ears, and like a thief Fled gasping from the house.  IN MEADOWS RUN TO STAY THE HOMESICK HOMESICK FEET UPON A FOREIGN SHORE HAUNTED BY NATIVE LANDS THE WHILE AND BLUE BELOVED AIR THIS IS THE SOVEREIGN ANGUISH THIS THE SIGNAL WOE THESE ARE THE PATIENT LAUREATES WHOSE VOICES TRAINED BELOW ASCEND IN CEASELESS CAROL INAUDIBLE INDEED TO US THE DULLER SCHOLARS OF THE MYSTERIOUS BARD FIFTY THREE RETURNING OUR YEARS HAD BEEN FROM HOME AND NOW BEFORE THE DOOR I DARED NOT OPEN LEST A FACE I NEVER SAW BEFORE STARE VACANT INTO MINE AND ASK MY BUSINESS THERE MY BUSINESS JUST A LIFE I LEFT WAS SUCH STILL DWELLING THERE I FUMBLED AT MY NERVE I SCANNED THE WINDOWS NEAR THE SILENCE LIKE AN OCEAN ROLLED AND BROKE AGAINST MY EAR I LAUGHED A WOODEN LAUGH THAT I COULD FEAR A DOOR WHO DANGER AND THE DEAD HAD FACED BUT NEVER QUAKED BEFORE I FITTED TO THE LATCH MY HAND WITH TREMBLING CARE LEST BACK THE AWFUL DOOR SHOULD SPRING AND LEAVE ME STANDING THERE I MOVED MY FINGERS OFF AS CAUTIOUSLY AS GLASS AND HELD MY EARS AND LIKE A THIEF FLED GASPING FROM THE HOUSE
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