by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < Asleep
Astra Castra > > >
Aspiration
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.
< < < Asleep
Astra Castra > > >
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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