Cite
 

Poemsby Emily Dickinson

XV

 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."