The Summer That We Did Not Prize
Emily Dickinson
1773 The Summer that we did not prize, Her treasures were so easy Instructs us by departing now And recognition lazy— Bestirs itself—puts on its Coat, And scans with fatal promptness For Trains that moment out of sight, Unconscious of his smartness.
Next 10 Poems
- Emily Dickinson : The Sun And Fog Contested
- Emily Dickinson : The Sun And Moon Must Make Their Haste
- Emily Dickinson : The Sun In Reigning To The West
- Emily Dickinson : The Sun Is Gay Or Stark
- Emily Dickinson : The Sun Is One-and On The Tare
- Emily Dickinson : The Sun Kept Setting-setting-still
- Emily Dickinson : The Sun Kept Stooping-stooping
- Emily Dickinson : The Sun Retired To A Cloud
- Emily Dickinson : The Sun Went Down-no Man Looked On-
- Emily Dickinson : The Sun-just Touched The Morning
Previous 10 Poems
- Emily Dickinson : The Suburbs Of A Secret
- Emily Dickinson : The Stimulus, Beyond The Grave
- Emily Dickinson : The Stem Of A Departed Flower
- Emily Dickinson : The Stars Are Old, That Stood For Me-
- Emily Dickinson : The Spry Arms Of The Wind
- Emily Dickinson : The Spirit Lasts-but In What Mode-
- Emily Dickinson : The Spirit Is The Conscious Ear
- Emily Dickinson : The Spider Holds A Silver Ball
- Emily Dickinson : The Spider As An Artist
- Emily Dickinson : The Soul's Superior Instants