Poemsby Emily Dickinson


 I gained it so,       By climbing slow, By catching at the twigs that grow Between the bliss and me.       It hung so high,       As well the sky       Attempt by strategy. 
 I said I gained it, -       This was all. Look, how I clutch it,       Lest it fall, And I a pauper go; Unfitted by an instant's grace For the contented beggar's face I wore an hour ago.