Again — his voice is at the door —
I feel the old Degree —
I hear him ask the servant
For such an one — as me —

I take a flower — as I go —
My face to justify —
He never saw me — in this life —
I might surprise his eye!

I cross the Hall with mingled steps —
I — silent — pass the door —
I look on all this world contains —
Just his face — nothing more!

We talk in careless — and it toss —
A kind of plummet strain —
Each — sounding — shyly —
Just — how — deep —
The other’s one — had been —

We walk — I leave my Dog — at home —
A tender — thoughtful Moon —
Goes with us — just a little way —
And — then — we are alone —

Alone — if Angels are “alone” —
First time they try the sky!
Alone — if those “veiled faces” — be —
We cannot count — on High!

I’d give — to live that hour — again —
The purple — in my Vein —
But He must count the drops — himself —
My price for every stain!
-Emily Dickinson