Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

I REASON, earth is short,
And anguish absolute.
And many hurt;
But what of that?
  
I reason, we could die:
The best vitality
Cannot excel decay;
But what of that?
  
I reason that in heaven
Somehow, it will be even,
Some new equation given;
But what of that?

1. Childish Griefs
2. What Soft, Cherubic Creatures
3. Power
4. Is Bliss, Then, Such Abyss
5. Thanksgiving Day

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