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 statues 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. Superiority to Fate
2. Hope (Hope is a subtle glutton)
3. The Forgotten Grave
4. Forbidden Fruit. I
5. I Think Just How My Shape Will Rise

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