Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924. |
Part One: Life XCVII |
| 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 | 5 |
| Would be a daily thing, | |
| Did not ourselves the cubits warp | |
| For fear to be a king. |
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