The Loneliness One dare not sound --
And would as soon surmise
As in its Grave go plumbing
To ascertain the size --

The Loneliness whose worst alarm
Is lest itself should see --
And perish from before itself
For just a scrutiny --

The Horror not to be surveyed --
But skirted in the Dark --
With Consciousness suspended --
And Being under Lock --

I fear me this -- is Loneliness --
The Maker of the soul
Its Caverns and its Corridors
Illuminate -- or seal --

Poet: Emily Dickinson
Poem: 777. The Loneliness One dare not sound --
Volume: Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
Year: Published/Written in 1955
Poem of the Day: Feb 17 2004

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