Emily Dickinson

(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

Again&Mdash;His Voice Is At The Door - Poem by Emily Dickinson

663

Again—his voice is at the door—
I feel the old Degree—
I hear him ask the servant
For such an one—as me—

I take a flower—as I go—
My face to justify—
He never saw me—in this life—
I might surprise his eye!

I cross the Hall with mingled steps—
I—silent—pass the door—
I look on all this world contains—
Just his face—nothing more!

We talk in careless—and it toss—
A kind of plummet strain—
Each—sounding—shyly& mdash;
Just—how—deep—
The other's one—had been—

We walk—I leave my Dog—at home—
A tender—thoughtful Moon—
Goes with us—just a little way—
And—then—we are alone—

Alone—if Angels are "alone"—
First time they try the sky!
Alone—if those "veiled faces"—be—
We cannot count—on High!

I'd give—to live that hour—again—
The purple—in my Vein—
But He must count the drops—himself—
My price for every stain!


Comments about Again&Mdash;His Voice Is At The Door by Emily Dickinson

  • Rookie - 181 Points Angelina Holmes (5/5/2014 8:11:00 PM)

    totally awesome poem. Great musicality (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Rookie - 142 Points Mifael Llauderes (10/29/2008 12:11:00 PM)

    and she was sensual too (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »



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Read poems about / on: alone, purple, dog, flower, moon, home, sky, world, angel



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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