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419 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—Darkness— 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.
Added: 9 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 4 Sep 2026 12:38 AM | Viewed: 31918 times
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Emily Dickinson
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