Uploaded on September 9, 2011
Though I get home how late, how late!
So I get home, ‘t will compensate.
Better will be the ecstasy
That they have done expecting me,
When, night descending, dumb and dark,
They hear my unexpected knock.
Transporting must the moment be,
Brewed from decades of agony!
To think just how the fire will burn,
Just how long-cheated eyes will turn
To wonder what myself will say,
And what itself will say to me,
Beguiles the centuries of way!
—Emily Dickinson
Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson
09.09.2023: The orange house looks different now with a porch stretching across the front: better and even more welcoming.