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-
(Emily Dickinson)
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