Poemsby Emily Dickinson


 On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair, 
 So quiet, oh, how quiet! That nobody might know But that the little figure Rocked softer, to and fro? 
 On such a dawn, or such a dawn, Would anybody sigh That such a little figure Too sound asleep did lie 
 For chanticleer to wake it, - Or stirring house below, Or giddy bird in orchard, Or early task to do? 
 There was a little figure plump For every little knoll, Busy needles, and spools of thread, And trudging feet from school. 
 Playmates, and holidays, and nuts, And visions vast and small. Strange that the feet so precious charged Should reach so small a goal!