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652 A Prison gets to be a friend— Between its Ponderous face And Ours—a Kinsmanship express— And in its narrow Eyes— We come to look with gratitude For the appointed Beam It deal us—stated as our food— And hungered for—the same— We learn to know the Planks— That answer to Our feet— So miserable a sound—at first— Nor ever now—so sweet— As plashing in the Pools— When Memory was a Boy— But a Demurer Circuit— A Geometric Joy— The Posture of the Key That interrupt the Day To Our Endeavor—Not so real The Check of Liberty— As this Phantasm Steel— Whose features—Day and Night— Are present to us—as Our Own— And as escapeless—quite— The narrow Round—the Stint— The slow exchange of Hope— For something passiver—Content Too steep for lookinp up— The Liberty we knew Avoided—like a Dream— Too wide for any Night but Heaven— If That—indeed—redeem—
Added: 30 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 5:46 PM | Viewed: 8758 times
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Emily Dickinson
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