![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySiHLPEG3l1NEBA8e49lGCdW77TX9D1h_WNWfbZQLPosMNPLIk6Pz67w2ee_TtSBY8vFiewyI_KxV7_yF23RVx9PfSBW5OR0-WbIBQNnRv0R9k7aDaOyg7yzuug8NRGSGDBQW/s400/moon.jpg)
We grow accustomed to the Dark
When light is put away
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye
A Moment -- We uncertain step
For newness of the night
Then fit our Vision to the Dark
And meet the Road -- erect
And so of larger -- Darkness
Those Evenings of the Brain
When not a Moon disclose a sign
Or Star -- come out -- within
The Bravest -- grope a little
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead
But as they learn to see
Either the Darkness alters
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight
And Life steps almost straight.
- Emily Dickinson