 | Poems by Emily Dickinson |  |
63
XLVIII.
DESIRE.
Who never wanted,—maddest joy
Remains to him unknown;
The banquet of abstemiousness
Surpasses that of wine.
Remains to him unknown;
The banquet of abstemiousness
Surpasses that of wine.
Within its hope, though yet ungrasped
Desire's perfect goal,
No nearer, lest reality
Should disenthrall thy soul.
Desire's perfect goal,
No nearer, lest reality
Should disenthrall thy soul.
| Poems by Emily Dickinson | |