Further Poems of Emily Dickinson/A prison gets to be a friend;

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A PRISON gets to be a friend;Between its ponderous faceAnd ours a kinsmanship exists,And in its narrow eyesWe come to look with gratitudeFor the appointed beamIt deals us—stated as our food,And hungered for the same.
We learn to know the planksThat answer to our feet,So miserable a sound at firstNor even now so sweetAs plashing in the poolsWhen memory was a boy,But a demurer circuit,A geometric joy.
The posture of the keyThat interrupts the dayTo our endeavor,—not so realThe cheek of LibertyAs this companion steel,Whose features day and nightAre present to us as our ownAnd as escapeless quite.
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The narrow round, the stint, The slow exchange of hope For something passiver, content Too steep for looking up, The liberty we knew Avoided like a dream, Too wide for any night but Heaven, If that indeed redeem.
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