Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 46
Chapter 50 of 146 · 1 min read
Heart not so heavy as mine, 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,
It was as if a bobolink, 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.
To-morrow, night will come again, Weary, perhaps, and sore. Ah, bugle, by my window, I pray you stroll once more!
XLVII.
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,
And struggle slacker, but to prove, As hopelessly as I, How many the fictitious shores Before the harbor lie.
