 | Poems by Emily Dickinson |  |
96
[VI. The way I read a letter's this]
The way I read a letter's this:
'T is first I lock the door,
And push it with my fingers next,
For transport it be sure.
'T is first I lock the door,
And push it with my fingers next,
For transport it be sure.
And then I go the furthest off
To counteract a knock;
Then draw my little letter forth
And softly pick its lock.
To counteract a knock;
Then draw my little letter forth
And softly pick its lock.
Then, glancing narrow at the wall,
And narrow at the floor,
For firm conviction of a mouse
Not exorcised before,
And narrow at the floor,
For firm conviction of a mouse
Not exorcised before,
Peruse how infinite I am
To—no one that you know!
And sigh for lack of heaven,—but not
The heaven the creeds bestow.
To—no one that you know!
And sigh for lack of heaven,—but not
The heaven the creeds bestow.
| Poems by Emily Dickinson | |