By Emily Dickinson

'T IS so much joy! 'T is so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I
Have ventured all upon a throw;
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so


This side the victory!

Life is but life, and death but death!
Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!
And if, indeed, I fail,
At least to know the worst is sweet.


Defeat means nothing but defeat,
No drearier can prevail!


And if I gain,—oh, gun at sea,
Oh, bells that in the steeples be,
At first repeat it slow!


For heaven is a different thing
Conjectured, and waked sudden in,
And might o'erwhelm me so!