Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

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Joy to have merited the Pain —
To merit the Release —
Joy to have perished every step —
To Compass Paradise —

Pardon — to look upon thy face —
With these old fashioned Eyes —
Better than new — could be — for that —
Though bought in Paradise —

Because they looked on thee before —
And thou hast looked on them —
Prove Me — My Hazel Witnesses
The features are the same —

So fleet thou wert, when present —
So infinite — when gone —
An Orient's Apparition —
Remanded of the Morn —

The Height I recollect —
'Twas even with the Hills —
The Depth upon my Soul was notched —
As Floods — on Whites of Wheels —

To Haunt — till Time have dropped
His last Decade away,
And Haunting actualize — to last
At least — Eternity — 

1. Contrast
2. The Nearest Dream Recedes, Unrealized
3. This Merit Hath the Worst
4. Who Robbed the Woods
5. Going to Heaven!

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