Years I had been from home, <br />And now, before the door <br />I dared not open, lest a face <br />I never saw before <br /> <br />Stare vacant into mine <br />And ask my business there. <br />My business, - just a life I left, <br />Was such still dwelling there? <br /> <br />I fumbled at my nerve, <br />I scanned the windows near; <br />The silence like an ocean rolled, <br />And broke against my ear. <br /> <br />I laughed a wooden laugh <br />That I could fear a door, <br />Who danger and the dead had faced, <br />But never quaked before. <br /> <br />I fitted to the latch <br />My hand, with trembling care, <br />Lest back the awful door should spring, <br />And leave me standing there. <br /> <br />I moved my fingers off <br />As cautiously as glass, <br />And held my ears, and like a thief <br />Fled gasping from the house.<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/home-6/
