Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

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. A Shady Friend for Torrid Days
2. Sight
3. Portraits Are to Daily Faces
4. The Goal
5. The Butterfly's Assumption-Gown

Print

3993 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version