944 <br /> <br />I learned—at least—what Home could be— <br />How ignorant I had been <br />Of pretty ways of Covenant— <br />How awkward at the Hymn <br /> <br />Round our new Fireside—but for this— <br />This pattern—of the Way— <br />Whose Memory drowns me, like the Dip <br />Of a Celestial Sea— <br /> <br />What Mornings in our Garden—guessed— <br />What Bees—for us—to hum— <br />With only Birds to interrupt <br />The Ripple of our Theme— <br /> <br />And Task for Both— <br />When Play be done— <br />Your Problem—of the Brain— <br />And mine—some foolisher effect— <br />A Ruffle—or a Tune— <br /> <br />The Afternoons—Together spent— <br />And Twilight—in the Lanes— <br />Some ministry to poorer lives— <br />Seen poorest—thro' our gains— <br /> <br />And then Return—and Night—and Home— <br /> <br />And then away to You to pass— <br />A new—diviner—care— <br />Till Sunrise take us back to Scene— <br />Transmuted—Vivider— <br /> <br />This seems a Home— <br />And Home is not— <br />But what that Place could be— <br />Afflicts me—as a Setting Sun— <br />Where Dawn—knows how to be—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-learned-at-least-what-home-could-be/
