Dickinson Friday: 167

To learn the Transport by the Pain
As Blind Men learn the sun!
To die of thirst — suspecting
That Brooks in Meadows run!

To stay the homesick — homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore —
Haunted by native lands, the while —
And blue — beloved air!

This is the Sovereign Anguish!
This — the signal woe!
These are the patient "Laureates"
Whose voices — trained — below —

Ascend in ceaseless Carol —
Inaudible, indeed,
To us — the duller scholars
Of the Mysterious Bard!

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