large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb_82
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
I should have been too saved, I see, Too rescued; fear too dim to me That I could spell the prayer I knew so perfect yesterday,    That scalding one, "Sabachthani," Recited fluent here. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN TOO SAVED I SEE TOO RESCUED FEAR TOO DIM TO ME THAT I COULD SPELL THE PRAYER I KNEW SO PERFECT YESTERDAY THAT SCALDING ONE SABAKTHENY RECITED FLUENT HERE
one 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! 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. The angels, happening that way, This dusty heart espied; Tenderly took it up from toil And carried it to God. There, -- sandals for the barefoot; There, -- gathered from the gales, Do the blue havens by the hand Lead the wandering sails. XXIV. TOO MUCH. I should have been too glad, I see, Too lifted for the scant degree Of life's penurious round; My little circuit would have shamed This new circumference, have blamed The homelier time behind. 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 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 THE ANGELS HAPPENING THAT WAY THIS DUSTY HEART ASPIED TENDERLY TOOK IT UP FROM TOIL AND CARRIED IT TO GOD THERE SANDALS FOR THE BAREFOOT THERE GATHERED FROM THE GALES THROUGH THE BLUE HEAVENS BY THE HAND LEAD THE WANDERING SAILS TWENTY FOUR TOO MUCH I SHOULD HAVE BEEN TOO GLAD I SEE TOO LIFTED FOR THE SCANT DEGREE OF LIFE'S PENURIOUS ROUND MY LITTLE CIRCUIT WOULD HAVE SHAMED THIS NEW CIRCUMFERENCE HAVE BLAMED THE HOMELIER TIME BEHIND
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb
file
download/librilight/large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_1_dickinson_64kb.flac