Two Poems

In comparison to the exploits of many literary giants, Emily Dickinson's life seems small. In her entire lifetime, historians say, she did not stray far from her bedroom window in Amherst, Massachusetts.  I am glad Ms. Dickinson stayed put.  We are indebted to the "soul upon a windowpane" that observed its world --however tiny-- with such microscopic precision. 

I really like these two poems.  

Success Is Counted Sweetest 

Success is counted sweetest 

by those who ne'er succeed. 

To comprehend a nectar

requires sorest need. 

Not one of all the purple Host 

Who took the Flag today

Can tell the definition 

so clear of Victory

As he defeated- dying- 

On whose forbidden ear

The distant strains of triumph 

Burst agonized and clear!

I Had Been Hungry,

 All the Years

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 the Road- 

Nor was I hungry- so I found

That Hunger- was a way

Of Persons outside Windows- 

The Entering - takes away-