Emily Dickinson

Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.

Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.

Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
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Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.

His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
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His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!

Forever is composed of nows.

Forever is composed of nows.

And so upon this wise I prayed,--
Great Spirit, give to me
A heaven not so large read more

And so upon this wise I prayed,--
Great Spirit, give to me
A heaven not so large as yours
But large enough for me.