Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 6
Chapter 60 of 146 · 1 min read
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.
And then I go the furthest off 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,
Peruse how infinite I am To — no one that you know! And sigh for lack of heaven, — but not The heaven the creeds bestow.
VII.
Wild nights! Wild nights! Were I with thee, Wild nights should be Our luxury!
Futile the winds To a heart in port, — Done with the compass, Done with the chart.
Rowing in Eden! Ah! the sea! Might I but moor To-night in thee!
