Emily Dickinson Poem

Each life converges to some centre

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Each life converges to some centre

Expressed or still;

Exists in every human nature

A goal,

 

Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,

Too fair

For credibility’s temerity

To dare.

 

Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven,

To reach

Were hopeless as the rainbow’s raiment

To touch,

 

Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance;

How high

Unto the saints’ slow diligence

The sky!

 

Ungained, it may be, by a life’s low venture,

But then,

Eternity enables the endeavoring

Again.

Each Scar I'll keep for Him
Dying! To be afraid of thee

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