Further Poems of Emily Dickinson/'Twas the old road
'TWAS the old road
Through pain,
That unfrequented one
With many a turn and thorn
That stops at Heaven.
Through pain,
That unfrequented one
With many a turn and thorn
That stops at Heaven.
This was the town
She passed;
There, where she rested last,
Then stepped more fast,
The little tracks close pressed.
She passed;
There, where she rested last,
Then stepped more fast,
The little tracks close pressed.
Then—not so swift,
Slow—slow—as feet did
Weary go,
Then stopped—no other track.
Slow—slow—as feet did
Weary go,
Then stopped—no other track.
Wait! Look! Her little book,
The leaf at love turned back,
The very hat
And this worn shoe
Just fits the track—
Herself, though—fled.
The leaf at love turned back,
The very hat
And this worn shoe
Just fits the track—
Herself, though—fled.
Another bed, a short one
Women make to-night
In chambers bright,
Too out of sight, though,
For our hoarse Good Night
To touch her hand.
Women make to-night
In chambers bright,
Too out of sight, though,
For our hoarse Good Night
To touch her hand.