Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Aspiration

We never know how high we are
  Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
  Our statures touch the skies.

The heroism we recite
  Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the cubits warp
  For fear to be a king.

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

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