A Pit-but Heaven over it-

And Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad,
And yet a Pit-
With Heaven over it.

To stir would be to slip-

To look would be to drop-
To dream-to sap the Prop
That holds my chances up.
Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it

The depth is all my thought-

I dare not ask my feet-
'Twould start us where we sit
So straight you'd scarce suspect
It was a Pit-with fathoms under it-
Its Circuit just the same.
Seed-summer-tomb-
Whose Doom to whom?

Emily Dickinson