Friday, April 04, 2008

Poem 4

We grow accustomed to the Dark -
When Light is put away -
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye -

A Moment - We uncertain step
For newness of the night -
Then - fit our Vision to the Dark -
And meet the Road - erect -

And so of larger - Darknesses -
Those evenings of the Brain -
When not a Moon disclose a sign -
Or Star - come out - within -

The Bravest - grope a little -
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead -
But as they learn to see -

Either the Darkness alters -
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight -
And Life steps almost straight.

~Emily Dickinson

She was the first poet I ever learned to really love. My father visited Mystic Seaport, where they have a bookstore, and brought back a little book of her poems for me. I don't know how old I was...thirteen or so, I think. At any rate, I fell in love with them. Fortunately, this book had the real versions, not the "We're going to change everything to be more conventional after you're dead and can't do anything about it" versions.

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