Poemsby Emily Dickinson

Returning

 I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before 
 Stare vacant into mine And ask my business there. My business, - just a life I left, Was such still dwelling there? 
 I fumbled at my nerve, I scanned the windows near; The silence like an ocean rolled, And broke against my ear. 
 I laughed a wooden laugh That I could fear a door, Who danger and the dead had faced, But never quaked before. 
 I fitted to the latch My hand, with trembling care, Lest back the awful door should spring, And leave me standing there. 
 I moved my fingers off As cautiously as glass, And held my ears, and like a thief Fled gasping from the house.