Hunger. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

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

    ‘T was 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,
    ‘T was so unlike the crumb
    The birds and I had often shared
    In Nature’s dining-room.

    The plenty hurt me, ‘t was 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.