PART TWO
I years I had been from home,
And now, before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business,-just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?
I fumbled at my nerve
I scanned the window near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.
I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
but never quaked before.
I fitted to the latch
My hand, with trembling care,
Lest back the awful door should spring,
And leave me standing there.
I moved by fingers off
As cautiously as glass,
And held my ears, and like a thief
Fled gasping from the house.
(Emily Dickinson)
