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Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.

477

No Man can compass a Despair—
As round a Goalless Road
No faster than a Mile at once
The Traveller proceed—

Unconscious of the Width—
Unconscious that the Sun
Be setting on His progress—
So accurate the One

At estimating Pain—
Whose own—has just begun—
His ignorance—the Angel
That pilot Him along—

Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 27 May 2012 3:16 AM | Viewed: 6695 times

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