There is no Frigate like a Book
(3) Base Camp
This is a kind and gentle, entry-level Emily Dickinson poem. While some of her other, stranger poems are way up there in the alpine meadows, this poem is like a nice, ambling walk up a grassy slope. It may take a little bit of huffing and puffing (say, around Line 5 or 6, maybe), but when you get to the top, you can take an exhilarating roll down!