207
Tho' I get home how late—how late—
So I get home - 'twill 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!
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Once More, My Now Bewildered Dove
- There Is A Finished Feeling
- Tho' My Destiny Be Fustian
- Perhaps I Asked Too Large
- I Often Passed The Village