Luck is not chance
It's Toil
Fortune's expensive smile
Is earned
The Father of the Mine
Is that old-fashioned Coin
We spurned
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- A Counterfeit - a Plated Person -
- A chilly Peace infests the Grass
- Like Brooms of Steel
- How Lonesome The Wind Must Feel Nights -
- I am afraid to own a Body