Returning by Emily Dickinson — Read

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.