368 <br /> <br />How sick—to wait—in any place—but thine— <br />I knew last night—when someone tried to twine— <br />Thinking—perhaps—that I looked tired—or alone— <br />Or breaking—almost—with unspoken pain— <br /> <br />And I turned—ducal— <br />That right—was thine— <br />One port—suffices—for a Brig—like mine— <br /> <br />Ours be the tossing—wild though the sea— <br />Rather than a Mooring—unshared by thee. <br />Ours be the Cargo—unladed—here— <br />Rather than the "spicy isles—" <br />And thou—not there—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/how-sick-to-wait-in-any-place-but-thine/
