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I Years had been from Home

© Emily Dickinson

I Years had been from Home
And now before the Door
I dared not enter, lest a Face
I never saw before

I never felt at Home -- Below

© Emily Dickinson

I never felt at Home -- Below --
And in the Handsome Skies
I shall not feel at Home -- I know --
I don't like Paradise --

How soft this Prison is

© Emily Dickinson

How soft this Prison is
How sweet these sullen bars
No Despot but the King of Down
Invented this repose

Heart, not so heavy as mine

© Emily Dickinson

Heart, not so heavy as mine
Wending late home --
As it passed my window
Whistled itself a tune --

He who in Himself believes --

© Emily Dickinson

He who in Himself believes --
Fraud cannot presume --
Faith is Constancy's Result --
And assumes -- from Home --

Good Morning -- Midnight

© Emily Dickinson

Good Morning -- Midnight --
I'm coming Home --
Day -- got tired of Me --
How could I -- of Him?

God permits industrious Angels

© Emily Dickinson

God permits industrious Angels --
Afternoons -- to play --
I met one -- forgot my Schoolmates --
All -- for Him -- straightway --

Except to Heaven, she is nought.

© Emily Dickinson

Except to Heaven, she is nought.
Except for Angels -- lone.
Except to some wide-wandering Bee
A flower superfluous blown.

'Tis not that Dying hurts us so

© Emily Dickinson

'Tis not that Dying hurts us so --
'Tis Living -- hurts us more --
But Dying -- is a different way --
A Kind behind the Door --

Where I have lost, I softer tread

© Emily Dickinson

Where I have lost, I softer tread --
I sow sweet flower from garden bed --
I pause above that vanished head
And mourn.

Through lane it lay -- through bramble

© Emily Dickinson

Through lane it lay -- through bramble --
Through clearing and through wood --
Banditti often passed us
Upon the lonely road.

The feet of people walking home

© Emily Dickinson

The feet of people walking home
With gayer sandals go --
The Crocus -- til she rises
The Vassal of the snow --

The farthest Thunder that I heard

© Emily Dickinson

The farthest Thunder that I heard
Was nearer than the Sky
And rumbles still, though torrid Noons
Have lain their missiles by --

I often passed the village

© Emily Dickinson

I often passed the village
When going home from school --
And wondered what they did there --
And why it was so still --

I like a look of Agony,

I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it's true --
Men do not sham Convulsion,
Nor simulate, a Throe --

I felt my life with both my hands

I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there --
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possibler --

Her breast is fit for pearls,

Her breast is fit for pearls,
But I was not a "Diver" --
Her brow is fit for thrones
But I have not a crest.

Bee! I'm expecting you!

Bee! I'm expecting you!
Was saying Yesterday
To Somebody you know
That you were due --

What is -- "Paradise"

What is -- "Paradise" --
Who live there --
Are they "Farmers" --
Do they "hoe" --
Do they know that this is "Amherst" --
And that I -- am coming -- too --

To know just how He suffered -- would be dear --

To know just how He suffered -- would be dear --
To know if any Human eyes were near
To whom He could entrust His wavering gaze --
Until it settle broad -- on Paradise --