The Way I Read A Letter’s This: By Emily Dickinson

    The way I read a letter’s this:
    ‘T is first I lock the door,
    And push it with my fingers next,
    For transport it be sure.

    And then I go the furthest off
    To counteract a knock;
    Then draw my little letter forth
    And softly pick its lock.

    Then, glancing narrow at the wall,
    And narrow at the floor,
    For firm conviction of a mouse
    Not exorcised before,

    Peruse how infinite I am
    To — no one that you know!
    And sigh for lack of heaven, — but not
    The heaven the creeds bestow.