POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
LXXII
HEART not so heavy as mine.
Wending late home,
As it passed my window
Whistled itself a tune,—
Wending late home,
As it passed my window
Whistled itself a tune,—
A careless snatch, a ballad,
A ditty of the street;
Yet to my irritated ear
An anodyne so sweet,
A ditty of the street;
Yet to my irritated ear
An anodyne so sweet,
It was as if a bobolink,
Sauntering this way,
Carolled and mused and carolled,
Then bubbled slow away.
Sauntering this way,
Carolled and mused and carolled,
Then bubbled slow away.
It was as if a chirping brook
Upon a toilsome way
Set bleeding feet to minuets
Without the knowing why.
Upon a toilsome way
Set bleeding feet to minuets
Without the knowing why.
To-morrow, night will come again,
Weary, perhaps, and sore.
Ah, bugle, by my window,
I pray you stroll once more!
Weary, perhaps, and sore.
Ah, bugle, by my window,
I pray you stroll once more!
LXXIII
I MANY times thought peace had come,
When peace was far away;
As wrecked men deem they sight the land
At centre of the sea,
When peace was far away;
As wrecked men deem they sight the land
At centre of the sea,
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