INDIAN SUMMER - These are the days when birds come back
These are the days when birds come back, / A very few, a bird or two,
The distance that the dead have gone
❦
The distance that the dead have gone
Does not at first appear;
Their coming back seems possible
For many an ardent year.
And then, that we have followed them
We more than half suspect,
So intimate have we become
With their dear retrospect.
More poems by Emily Dickinson
COBWEBS - The spider as an artist
The spider as an artist / Has never been employed
THE ORIOLE - One of the ones that Midas touched
One of the ones that Midas touched, / Who failed to touch us all,
THE SLEEPING FLOWERS - "Whose are the little beds," I asked
Whose are the little beds, I asked, / Which in the valleys lie?