Emily Dickinson

Their Height In Heaven Comforts Not

poem 696

Their Height in Heaven comforts not Their Glory nought to me ‘Twas best imperfect as it was I’m finite I can’t see The House of Supposition The Glimmering Frontier that Skirts the Acres of Perhaps To Me shows insecure The Wealth I had contented me If ’twas a meaner size Then I had counted it until It pleased my narrow Eyes Better than larger values That show however true This timid life of Evidence Keeps pleading I don’t know.

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