Her Final Summer Was It, Poem by Emily Dickinson

Her Final Summer Was It,

Rating: 4.5


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,
And 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 dulness,
The busy darling lay,
So busy was she, finishing,
So leisurely were we!

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
* Sunprincess * 04 June 2016

.....exquisite thoughts on the loss of a loved one ★

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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Amherst / Massachusetts
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