Search Results for: summer

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XLVII. Summer’s Obsequies SUMMER’S OBSEQUIES. The gentian weaves her fringes, The maple’s loom is red. My departing blossoms Obviate parade. A brief, but patient illness, An hour to prepare; And one, below this morning, Is where the angels are. It was a short procession, — The bobolink was there, […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XLIV. Further in Summer MY CRICKET. Further in summer than the birds, Pathetic from the grass, A minor nation celebrates Its unobtrusive mass. No ordinance is seen, So gradual the grace, A pensive custom it becomes, Enlarging loneliness. Antiquest felt at noon When August, burning low, Calls forth this […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXIX. The One That Could Repeat the Summer Day The one that could repeat the summer day Were greater than itself, though he Minutest of mankind might be. And who could reproduce the sun, At period of going down — The lingering and the stain, I mean — When […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXVIII. I Know A Place Where Summer Strives I know a place where summer strives With such a practised frost, She each year leads her daisies back, Recording briefly, “Lost.” But when the south wind stirs the pools And struggles in the lanes, Her heart misgives her for her […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XXVII. Indian Summer INDIAN SUMMER. These are the days when birds come back, A very few, a bird or two, To take a backward look. These are the days when skies put on The old, old sophistries of June, — A blue and gold mistake. Oh, fraud that cannot […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems XII. A Something in a Summer’s Day PSALM OF THE DAY. A something in a summer’s day, As slow her flambeaux burn away, Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon, — An azure depth, a wordless tune, Transcending ecstasy. And still within a summer’s night A something […]