I Cross Till I Am Weary
Emily Dickinson
550 I cross till I am weary A Mountain—in my mind— More Mountains—then a Sea— More Seas—And then A Desert—find— And My Horizon blocks With steady—drifting—Grains Of unconjectured quantity— As Asiatic Rains— Nor this—defeat my Pace— It hinder from the West But as an Enemy’s Salute One hurrying to Rest— What merit had the Goal— Except there intervene Faint Doubt—and far Competitor— To jeopardize the Gain? At last—the Grace in sight— I shout unto my feet— I offer them the Whole of Heaven The instant that we meet— They strive—and yet delay— They perish—Do we die— Or is this Death’s Experiment— Reversed—in Victory?
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