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 —
An aged Bee addressed us —
And then we knelt in prayer

The incidents of love
Are more than its Events –
Investment’s best Expositor
Is the minute Per Cents –
-Emily Dickinson

The Infinite a sudden Guest
Has been assumed to be —
But how can that stupendous come
Which never went away?
– Emily Dickinson

The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean.
A Travelling Flake of Snow
Across a Barn or through a Rut
Debates if it will go —

A Narrow Wind complains all Day
How some one treated him
Nature, like Us is sometimes caught
Without her Diadem.
– Emily Dickinson

There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain —
‘Tis Pain’s Successor — When the Soul
Has suffered all it can —

A Drowsiness — diffuses —
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness —
As Mists — obliterate a Crag.

The Surgeon — does not blanch — at pain
His Habit — is severe

When I hoped I feared —
Since I hoped I dared
Everywhere alone
As a Church remain —
Spectre cannot harm —
Serpent cannot charm —
He deposes Doom
Who hath suffered him —
– Emily Dickinson

When Roses cease to bloom, Sir,
And Violets are done —
When Bumblebees in solemn flight
Have passed beyond the Sun —
The hand that paused to gather
Upon this Summer’s day
Will idle lie — in Auburn —
Then take my flowers — pray!
-Emily Dickinson

Witchcraft was hung, in History,
But History and I
Find all the Witchcraft that we need
Around us, every Day —
-Emily Dickinson