Again — his voice is at the door Emily Dickinson
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Again — his voice is at the door
I feel the old Degree
I hear him ask the servant
For such an one — as me
I take a flower — as I go
My face to justify
He never saw me — in this life
I might surprise his eye!
I cross the Hall with mingled steps
I — silent — pass the door
I look on all this world contains
Just his face — nothing more!
We talk in careless—and it toss
A kind of plummet strain
Each — sounding — shyly
Just — how — deep
The other's one — had been
We walk — I leave my Dog — at home
A tender — thoughtful Moon
Goes with us — just a little way
And — then — we are alone
Again — his voice is at the door
I feel the old Degree
I hear him ask the servant
For such an one — as me
I take a flower — as I go
My face to justify
He never saw me — in this life
I might surprise his eye!
I cross the Hall with mingled steps
I — silent — pass the door
I look on all this world contains
Just his face — nothing more!
We talk in careless—and it toss
A kind of plummet strain
Each — sounding — shyly
Just — how — deep
The other's one — had been
We walk — I leave my Dog — at home
A tender — thoughtful Moon
Goes with us — just a little way
And — then — we are alone
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