large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb_116
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
It can't be dying,    it's too rouge,    The dead shall go in white. So sunset shuts my question down With clasps of chrysolite. XLVII. SUMMER'S OBSEQUIES. The gentian weaves her fringes, The maple's loom is red. My departing blossoms Obviate parade. IT CAN'T BE DYING IT'S TOO ROUGE THE DEAD SHALL GO IN WHITE SO SUNSET SHUTS MY QUESTION DOWN WITH CLASPS OF CHRYSOLITE FORTY SEVEN SUMMER'S OBSEQUIES THE GENSION WEAVES HER FRINGES THE MAPLES LOOM IS RED MY DEPARTING BLOSSOMS OBVIATE PARADE
y is gone! XLIV. MY CRICKET. Farther in summer than the birds, Pathetic from the grass, A minor nation celebrates Its unobtrusive mass. No ordinance is seen, So gradual the grace, A pensive custom it becomes, Enlarging loneliness. Antiquest felt at noon When August, burning low, Calls forth this spectral canticle, Repose to typify. Remit as yet no grace, No furrow on the glow, Yet a druidic difference Enhances nature now. XLV. As imperceptibly as grief The summer lapsed away, -- Too imperceptible, at last, To seem like perfidy. A quietness distilled, As twilight long begun, Or Nature, spending with herself Sequestered afternoon. The dusk drew earlier in, The morning foreign shone, -- A courteous, yet harrowing grace, As guest who would be gone. And thus, without a wing, Or service of a keel, Our summer made her light escape Into the beautiful. XLVI. It can't be summer, -- that got through; It 's early yet for spring; There 's that long town of white to cross Before the blackbirds sing. TO THE MEADOW AND THE JUGGLER OF DAY IS GONE FORTY FOUR MY CRICKETARTHER IN SUMMER THAN THE BIRDS PATHETIC FROM THE GRASS A MINOR NATION CELEBRATES ITS UNOBTRUSIVE MASS NO ORDINANCE IS SEEN SO GRADUAL THE GRACE A PENSIVE CUSTOM IT BECOMES ENLARGING LONELINESS ANTIQUEST FELT AT NOON WHEN AUGUST BURNING LOW CALLS FORTH THIS SPECTRAL CENTICAL REPOSE TO TYPIFY REMIT AS YET NO GRACE NO FURROW ON THE GLOW YET A DRUIDIC DIFFERENCE ENHANCES NATURE NOW FORTY FIVE AS IMPERCEPTIBLY AS GRIEF THE SUMMER LAPSED AWAY TOO IMPERCEPTIBLE AT LAST TO SEEM LIKE PERFIDY A QUIETNESS DISTILL'D AS TWILIGHT LONG BEGUN OR NATURE SPENDING WITH HERSELF SEQUESTERED AFTERNOON THE DUSK DREW EARLIER IN THE MORNING FOREIGN SHONE A COURTEOUS YET HARROWING GRACE AS GUEST WHO WOULD BE GONE AND THUS WITHOUT A WING OR SERVICE OF A KEEL OUR SUMMER MADE HER LIGHT ESCAPE INTO THE BEAUTIFUL FORTY SIX IT CAN'T BE SUMMER THAT GOT THROUGH IT'S EARLY YET FOR SPRING THERE'S THAT LONG TOWN OF WHITE TO CROSS BEFORE THE BLACKBIRDS SING
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