Emily Dickenson For Thanksgiving

T’is so much joy
If I should fail, what poverty
And yet, as poor as I
Have ventured all upon a throw
Have gained Yes Hesitated so
This side the victory
Life is but life, and death but death
Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!
And if, indeed, I fail
At least to know the worst is sweet
Defeat means nothing but defeat
No drearier can prevail
And if I gain, oh, gun at sea
Oh, bells that in the steeples be
At first repeat it slow
For heaven is a different thing
Conjectured, and waked sudden in
The great storm is over