Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 47
Chapter 88 of 146 · 1 min read
SUMMER'S OBSEQUIES.
The gentian weaves her fringes, The maple's loom is red. My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
A brief, but patient illness, An hour to prepare; And one, below this morning, Is where the angels are.
It was a short procession, — The bobolink was there, An aged bee addressed us, And then we knelt in prayer.
We trust that she was willing, — We ask that we may be. Summer, sister, seraph, Let us go with thee!
In the name of the bee And of the butterfly And of the breeze, amen!
XLVIII.
FRINGED GENTIAN.
God made a little gentian; It tried to be a rose And failed, and all the summer laughed. But just before the snows There came a purple creature That ravished all the hill; And summer hid her forehead, And mockery was still. The frosts were her condition; The Tyrian would not come Until the North evoked it. "Creator! shall I bloom?"
