Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
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. Edited by Peter Carter
Added: 2 Apr 2003 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 4:18 PM | Viewed: 7156 times
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