Standing before a house after years away, the speaker is paralyzed by fear — not of a specific danger inside, but of the door itself and the chance that a stranger’s face will answer. The life she left behind now feels like a business to be justified. She lingers in the “Awe” of that moment, feeling time roll over her like an ocean wave that breaks against her ear. Even as she laughs a shaky laugh at how a door could frighten her — after all the real dangers she’s faced — her hand on the latch trembles. The door becomes a force that might spring open and knock her flat. Unable to bear the suspense, she slips her fingers away, holds her ears as if to shut out the dreaded question, and flees the house, gasping like a thief. The mood is taut and eerie, undercut by an almost humorous bewilderment at how a simple homecoming can turn into such a quiet terror.
I Years had been from Home — Summary
I Years had been from Home And now before the Door I dared not enter, lest a Face I never saw before
Stare solid into mine And ask my Business there -- "My Business but a Life I left Was such remaining there?"
I leaned upon the Awe -- I lingered with Before -- The Second like an Ocean rolled And broke against my ear --
I laughed a crumbling Laugh That I could fear a Door Who Consternation compassed And never winced before.
I fitted to the Latch My Hand, with trembling care Lest back the awful Door should spring And leave me in the Floor --
Then moved my Fingers off As cautiously as Glass And held my ears, and like a Thief Fled gasping from the House --