To Learn The Transport By The Pain, By Emily Dickinson

    To learn the transport by the pain,
    As blind men learn the sun;
    To die of thirst, suspecting
    That brooks in meadows run;

    To stay the homesick, homesick feet
    Upon a foreign shore
    Haunted by native lands, the while,
    And blue, beloved air —

    This is the sovereign anguish,
    This, the signal woe!
    These are the patient laureates
    Whose voices, trained below,

    Ascend in ceaseless carol,
    Inaudible, indeed,
    To us, the duller scholars
    Of the mysterious bard!