Her final Summer was it —

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Her final Summer was it — by 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 —


Poetry by Emily Dickinson (edit list):
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