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Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems

Part One: Life 61. Each life converges to some centre

THE GOAL.


Each life converges to some centre

Expressed or still;

Exists in every human nature

A goal,


Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,

Too fair

For credibility's temerity

To dare.


Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven,

To reach

Were hopeless as the rainbow's raiment

To touch,


Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance;

How high

Unto the saints' slow diligence

The sky!


Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture,

But then,

Eternity enables the endeavoring

Again.