A daily poem from the complete works of Emily Dickinson.
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When Night is almost done –
And Sunrise grows so near
That we can touch the Spaces –
It’s time to smooth the Hair –
And get the Dimples ready –
And wonder we could care
For that old — faded Midnight –
That frightened — but an Hour –
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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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So glad we are — a Stranger’d deem
‘Twas sorry, that we were –
For where the Holiday should be
There publishes a Tear –
Nor how Ourselves be justified –
Since Grief and Joy are done
So similar — An Optizan
Could not decide between –
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Like Some Old fashioned Miracle
When Summertime is done –
Seems Summer’s Recollection
And the Affairs of June
As infinite Tradition
As Cinderella’s Bays –
Or Little John — of Lincoln Green –
Or Blue Beard’s Galleries –
Her Bees have a fictitious Hum –
Her Blossoms, like a Dream –
Elate us — till we almost weep –
So plausible — they seem –
Her Memories like Strains — Review –
When Orchestra is dumb –
The Violin in Baize replaced –
And Ear — and Heaven — numb –
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It’s like the Light –
A fashionless Delight –
It’s like the Bee –
A dateless — Melody –
It’s like the Woods –
Private — Like the Breeze –
Phraseless — yet it stirs
The proudest Trees –
It’s like the Morning –
Best — when it’s done –
And the Everlasting Clocks –
Chime — Noon!
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