The cricket sang,

Emily Dickinson

 Next Poem          

The cricket sang,
And set the sun,
And workmen finished, one by one,
Their seam the day upon.

The low grass loaded with the dew,
The twilight stood as strangers do
With hat in hand, polite and new,
To stay as if, or go.

A vastness, as a neighbor, came,--
A wisdom without face or name,
A peace, as hemispheres at home,--
And so the night became.

Next Poem 

 Back to Emily Dickinson

To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.