Had we our senses
But perhaps 'tis well they're not at Home
So intimate with Madness
He's liable with them
Had we the eyes without our Head—
How well that we are Blind—
We could not look upon the Earth—
So utterly unmoved—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- My Reward For Being, Was This
- Gratitude—is Not The Mention
- Lightly Stepped A Yellow Star
- Dear March - Come in
- The Birds Reported From The South