Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924. |
Part Three: Love
XXVI
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| THE NIGHT was wide, and furnished scant | |
| With but a single star, | |
| That often as a cloud it met | |
| Blew out itself for fear. | |
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| The wind pursued the little bush, | 5 |
| And drove away the leaves | |
| November left; then clambered up | |
| And fretted in the eaves. | |
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| No squirrel went abroad; | |
| A dog’s belated feet | 10 |
| Like intermittent plush were heard | |
| Adown the empty street. | |
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| To feel if blinds be fast, | |
| And closer to the fire | |
| Her little rocking-chair to draw, | 15 |
| And shiver for the poor, | |
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| The housewife’s gentle task. | |
| “How pleasanter,” said she | |
| Unto the sofa opposite, | |
| “The sleet than May—no thee!” | 20 |
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