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Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.

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Her final Summer was it

Emily Dickinson


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—

Added: 30 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 21 Jan 2019 10:46 PM | Viewed: 8450 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/6976/ | Viewed on 21 January 2019.
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