Sunday, January 4, 2009

Poem 289

Emily Dickinson

I know some lonely Houses off the Road

A Robber’d like the look of—

Wooden barred,

And Windows hanging low,

Inviting to—

A Portico,

Where two could creep—

One—hand the Tools—

The other peep—

To make sure All’s Asleep—

Old fashioned eyes—

Not easy to surprise!

 

How orderly the Kitchen’d look, by night,

With just a Clock—

But they could gag the Tick—

And Mice won’t bark—

And so the Walls—don’t tell—

None—will—

 

A pair of Spectacles ajar just stir—

An Almanac’s aware—

Was it the Mat—winked,

Or a Nervous Star?

The Moon—slides down the stair,

To see who’s there!

 

There’s plunder—where—

Tankard, or Spoon—

Earring—or Stone—

A Watch—Some Ancient Brooch

To match the Grandmama—

Staid sleeping—there—

 

Day—rattles—too

Stealth’s—slow—

The Sun has got as far

As the third Sycamore—

Screams Chanticleer

“Who’s there”?

 

And Echoes—Trains away,

Sneer—“Where”!

While the old Couple, just astir,

Fancy the Sunrise—left the door ajar!

2 comments:

Ms Johnson said...

I love this poem-- and I love it that you posted it on my birthday --even though I know you migth not have know my birthday. How beautiful.

Dawn Potter said...

Happy birthday, from me and Miss Dickinson. I hope you had a lovely day.