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 Would be a daily thing,Did not ourselves the cubits warp For fear to be a king.
XCVIII
WHILE I was fearing it, it came, But came with less of fear,Because that fearing it so long Had almost made it dear.There is a fitting a dismay, A fitting a despair.’T is harder knowing it is due, Than knowing it is here.The trying on the utmost, The morning it is new,Is terribler than wearing it A whole existence through.
XCIX
THERE is no frigate like a book To take us lands away,Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry.
[53]
