POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON
LXXII
HEART not so heavy as mine.Wending late home,As it passed my windowWhistled itself a tune,—
A careless snatch, a ballad,A ditty of the street;Yet to my irritated earAn anodyne so sweet,
It was as if a bobolink,Sauntering this way,Carolled and mused and carolled,Then bubbled slow away.
It was as if a chirping brookUpon a toilsome waySet bleeding feet to minuetsWithout the knowing why.
To-morrow, night will come again,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 landAt centre of the sea,
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