large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb_68
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
XXIII. A poor torn heart, a tattered heart, That sat it down to rest, Nor noticed that the ebbing day Flowed silver to the west, Nor noticed night did soft descend Nor constellation burn, Intent upon the vision Of latitudes unknown. TWENTY THREE A POOR TORN HEART A TATTERED HEART THAT SAT DOWN TO REST NOR NOTIC'D THAT THE EBBING DAY FLOW'D SILVER TO THE WEST NOR NOTICED NIGHT DID SOFT DESCEND NOR CONSTELLATION BURN INTENT UPON THE VISION OF LATITUDES UNKNOWN
 XX. A thought went up my mind to-day That I have had before, But did not finish, -- some way back, I could not fix the year, Nor where it went, nor why it came The second time to me, Nor definitely what it was, Have I the art to say. But somewhere in my soul, I know I 've met the thing before; It just reminded me -- 't was all -- And came my way no more. XXI. Is Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable. Is Heaven an exchequer? They speak of what we owe; But that negotiation I 'm not a party to. XXII. THE RETURN. Though I get home how late, how late! So I get home, 't will compensate. Better will be the ecstasy That they have done expecting me, When, night descending, dumb and dark, They hear my unexpected knock. Transporting must the moment be, Brewed from decades of agony! To think just how the fire will burn, Just how long-cheated eyes will turn To wonder what myself will say, And what itself will say to me, Beguiles the centuries of way!  FLITS A LITTLE AND THAT'S THE SKIES TWENTY A THOUGHT WENT UP MY MIND TO DAY THAT I HAVE HAD BEFORE BUT DID NOT FINISH SOME WAY BACK I COULD NOT FIX THE YEAR NOR WHERE IT WENT NOR WHY IT CAME THE SECOND TIME TO ME NOR DEFINITELY WHAT IT WAS HAVE I THE ART TO SAY BUT SOMEWHERE IN MY SOUL I KNOW I'VE MET THE THING BEFORE IT JUST REMINDED ME TWAS ALL AND CAME MY WAY NO MORE TWENTY ONE IS HEAVEN A PHYSICIAN THEY SAY THAT HE CAN HEAL BUT MEDICINE POSTHUMOUS IS UNAVAILABLE IS HEAVEN AN EXCHECURE THEY SPEAK OF WHAT WE OWE BUT THAT NEGOTIATION I'M NOT A PARTY TO TWENTY TWO THE RETURN THOUGH I GET HOME HOW LATE HOW LATE SO I GET HOME TO A COMPENSATE BETTER WILL BE THE ECSTASY THAT THEY HAVE DONE EXPECTING ME WHEN NIGHT DESCENDING DUMB AND DARK THEY HEAR MY UNEXPECTED KNOCK TRANSPORTING MUST THE MOMENT BE BROOD FROM DECADES OF AGONY TO THINK JUST HOW THE FIRE WILL BURN JUST HOW LONG CHEATED EYES WILL TURN TO WONDER WHAT MYSELF WILL SAY AND WHAT ITSELF WILL SAY TO ME BEGUILES THE CENTURIES OF WAY
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