Each Life Converges To Some Centre
Emily Dickinson
680 Each Life Converges to some Centre— Expressed—or still— Exists in every Human Nature A Goal— Embodied scarcely to itself—it may be— Too fair For Credibility’s presumption To mar— Adored with caution—as a Brittle Heaven— To reach Were hopeless, as the Rainbow’s Raiment To touch— Yet persevered toward—sure—for the Distance— How high— Unto the Saint’s slow diligence— The Sky— Ungained—it may be—by a Life’s low Venture— But then— Eternity enable the endeavoring Again.
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