Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

No ladder needs the bird but skies
To situate its wings,
Nor any leader's grim baton
Arraigns it as it sings.
The implements of bliss are few —
As Jesus says of Him,
"Come unto me" the moiety
That wafts the cherubim. 

1. Contrast
2. The Nearest Dream Recedes, Unrealized
3. This Merit Hath the Worst
4. In Lands I Never Saw, They Say
5. Who Robbed the Woods

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