Page:Emily Dickinson Poems (1890).djvu/37

 A pair of spectacles afar just stir— An almanac 's aware. Was it the mat winked, Or a nervous star? The moon slides down the stair To see who 's there.

There 's plunder,—where? Tankard, or spoon, Earring, or stone, A watch, some ancient brooch To match the grandmamma, Staid sleeping there.

Day rattles, too, Stealth 's slow; The sun has got as far As the third sycamore. Screams chanticleer, "Who 's there?" And echoes, trains away, Sneer—"Where?" While the old couple, just astir, Fancy the sunrise left the door ajar!