Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 50
Chapter 52 of 146 · 1 min read
HUNGER.
I had been hungry all the years; My noon had come, to dine; I, trembling, drew the table near, And touched the curious wine.
'T was this on tables I had seen, When turning, hungry, lone, I looked in windows, for the wealth I could not hope to own.
I did not know the ample bread, 'T was so unlike the crumb The birds and I had often shared In Nature's dining-room.
The plenty hurt me, 't was so new, — Myself felt ill and odd, As berry of a mountain bush Transplanted to the road.
Nor was I hungry; so I found That hunger was a way Of persons outside windows, The entering takes away.
LI.
I gained it so, By climbing slow, By catching at the twigs that grow Between the bliss and me. It hung so high, As well the sky Attempt by strategy.
I said I gained it, — This was all. Look, how I clutch it, Lest it fall, And I a pauper go; Unfitted by an instant's grace For the contented beggar's face I wore an hour ago.
