No Man can compass a Despair
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 --
Poem by
Emily Dickinson
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