Her Final Summer Was It
Emily Dickinson
795 Her final Summer was it— And yet We guessed it not— If tenderer industriousness Pervaded Her, We thought A further force of life Developed from within— When Death lit all the shortness up It made the hurry plain— We wondered at our blindness When nothing was to see But Her Carrara Guide post— At Our Stupidity— When duller than our dullness The Busy Darling lay— So busy was she—finishing— So leisurely—were We—
Next 10 Poems
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- Emily Dickinson : Her Smile Was Shaped Like Other Smiles
- Emily Dickinson : Her Sovereign People
- Emily Dickinson : Her Spirit Rose To Such A Height
- Emily Dickinson : Her Sweet Turn To Leave The Homestead
- Emily Dickinson : Her Sweet Weight On My Heart A Night
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- Emily Dickinson : Her Face Was In A Bed Of Hair
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