God preaches, a noted Clergyman — And the sermon is never long, So instead of getting to Heaven, at last— I'm going, all along. - Emily Dickinson

The poet lights the light and fades away. But the light goes on and on.

There is a pain so utter, it swallows being up;
The covers the abyss with a trance
So memory can step around, across, upon it.

I had been hungry all the years-
My noon had come, to dine-
I, trembling, drew the table near
And touched the curious wine.

'Twas this on tables I had seen
When turning, hungry, lone,
I looked in windows, for the wealth
I could not hope to own.

I did not know the ample bread,
'Twas so unlike the crumb
The birds and I had often shared
In Nature's diningroom.

The plenty hurt me, 'twas so new, — Myself felt ill and odd,
As berry of a mountain bush
Transplanted to the road.

Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The entering takes away.