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.
Read all of Emily Dickinson's poems · About Emily Dickinson
More by Emily Dickinson
Write poetry? Submit your poem to Poetry Catalog