I had been hungry all the years
By Emily Dickinson
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,
lone,
I looked in
windows, for the
wealth
I could not hope to own.
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 the
road.
Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The entering takes away.