Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

As imperceptibly as grief
The summer lapsed away, --
Too imperceptible, at last,
To seem like perfidy.

A quietness distilled,
As twilight long begun,
Or Nature, spending with herself
Sequestered afternoon.

The dusk drew earlier in,
The morning foreign shone, --
A courteous, yet harrowing grace,
As guest who would be gone.

And thus, without a wing,
Or service of a keel,
Our summer made her light escape
Into the beautiful.

1. There Is a Shame of Nobleness
2. Till the End
3. Unto My Books So Good to Turn
4. Morns Like These We Parted
5. I Read My Sentence Steadily

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