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Lyric Poem · Summer

Her final Summer was it

by Emily Dickinson

Her final Summer was it —

And yet We guessed it not —

If tenderer industriousness

Pervaded Her, We thought

A further force of life

Developed from within —

When Death lit all the shortness up

It made the hurry plain —

We wondered at our blindness

When nothing was to see

But Her Carrara Guide post —

At Our Stupidity —

When duller than our dullness

The Busy Darling lay —

So busy was she — finishing —

So leisurely — were We —

This poem is in the public domain.

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