962
Midsummer, was it, when They died—
A full, and perfect time—
The Summer closed upon itself
In Consummated Bloom—
The Corn, her furthest kernel filled
Before the coming Flail—
When These—leaned unto Perfectness—
Through Haze of Burial—
Back to Emily Dickinson
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓
To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.
Comments1Emily Dickinson's writing certainly is fascinating. Her metaphors always intrigue me and make me ponder. With this one, I'm a bit confused about the overall theme. Is she talking about the passage of time, or is it about an actual death? What do you all think?