Emily Dickinson, Three Poems

"There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears the human soul."

"We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statues touch the skies.
The heroism we recite
Would be a daily thing
Did not ourselves the cubits warp
For fear to be a king."

And my very favorite:
"Hope is a thing with feathers
That perches on the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chilliest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me."