Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

The things we thought that we should do
We other things have done
But those peculiar industries
Have never been begun —

The Lands we thought that we should seek
When large enough to run
By Speculation ceded
To Speculation's Son —

The Heaven, in which we hoped to pause
When Discipline was done
Untenable to Logic
But possibly the one —

1. On the Tleakness of My Lot
2. Possession
3. The Moon Is Distant from the Sea
4. Triumph
5. Going

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