Emily Dickinson — Tho I get home how late—how late

207 Tho' I get home how late—how late So I get home - 'twill compensate Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me When Night—descending—dumb—and dark They hear my unexpected knock Transporting must the moment be Brewed from decades of Agony! To think just how the fire will burn Just how long-cheated eyes will turn To wonder what myself will say And what itself, will say to me Beguiles the Centuries of way!