We never know how high we are (1176) by Emily Dickinson

One Poem Only · May 12, 2025 · 1m

We never know how high we are

Emily Dickinson 1830 – 1886

We never know how high we are

Till we are called to rise;

And then, if we are true to plan,

Our statures touch the skies—

The Heroism we recite

Would be a daily thing,

Did not ourselves the Cubits warp

For fear to be a King—

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This round, I’m looking for poems about what remains. What stays with us after we experience change? What survives? What do we yearn to carry forward? Send me the poem you wrote and want the world to hear. Also, if you’d like to read your own poem on…