Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 15
Chapter 97 of 146 · 1 min read
Their height in heaven comforts not, Their glory nought to me; 'T was 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 't was a meaner size, Then I had counted it until It pleased my narrow eyes
Better than larger values, However true their show; This timid life of evidence Keeps pleading, "I don't know."
XVI.
There is a shame of nobleness Confronting sudden pelf, — A finer shame of ecstasy Convicted of itself.
A best disgrace a brave man feels, Acknowledged of the brave, — One more "Ye Blessed" to be told; But this involves the grave.
