344 <br /> <br />'Twas the old—road—through pain— <br />That unfrequented—one— <br />With many a turn—and thorn— <br />That stops—at Heaven— <br /> <br />This—was the Town—she passed— <br />There—where she—rested—last— <br />Then—stepped more fast— <br />The little tracks—close prest— <br />Then—not so swift— <br />Slow—slow—as feet did weary—grow— <br />Then—stopped—no other track! <br /> <br />Wait! Look! Her little Book— <br />The leaf—at love—turned back— <br />Her very Hat— <br />And this worn shoe just fits the track— <br />Herself—though—fled! <br /> <br />Another bed—a short one— <br />Women make—tonight— <br />In Chambers bright— <br />Too out of sight—though— <br />For our hoarse Good Night— <br />To touch her Head!<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/twas-the-old-road-through-pain/
