Emily Dickinson

It Will Be Summer eventually

poem 342

It will be Summer eventually. Ladies with parasols Sauntering Gentlemen with Canes And little Girls with Dolls Will tint the pallid landscape As ’twere a bright Bouquet Thro’ drifted deep, in Parian The Village lies today The Lilacs bending many a year Will sway with purple load The Bees will not despise the tune Their Forefathers have hummed The Wild Rose redden in the Bog The Aster on the Hill Her everlasting fashion set And Covenant Gentians frill Till Summer folds her miracle As Women do their Gown Of Priests adjust the Symbols When Sacrament is done

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