'It will be Summer — eventually.' (#342) by Emily Dickinson

Poetry

342

Emily Dickinson

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 — Tho’ 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 — Or Priests — adjust the Symbols — When Sacrament — is done —


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