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579 I had been hungry, all the Years— My Noon had Come—to dine— I trembling drew the Table near— And touched the Curious Wine— 'Twas this on Tables I had seen— When turning, hungry, Home I looked in Windows, for the Wealth I could not hope—for Mine— I did not know the ample Bread— 'Twas so unlike the Crumb The Birds and I, had often shared In Nature's—Dining Room— The Plenty hurt me—'twas so new— Myself felt ill—and odd— As Berry—of a Mountain Bush— Transplanted—to a Road— Nor was I hungry—so I found That Hunger—was a way Of Persons outside Windows— The Entering—takes away—
Added: 2 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 4:43 PM | Viewed: 11101 times
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Emily Dickinson
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