Poems by Emily Dickinson: At Length
Updated May 6, 2020 |
Infoplease Staff
At Length
At Length
Her final summer was it,
And yet we guessed it not;
If tenderer industriousness
Pervaded her, we thought
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,
And made the hurry plain.
Developed from within, —
When Death lit all the shortness up,
And made the hurry plain.
We wondered at our blindness, —
When nothing was to see
But her Carrara guide-post, —
At our stupidity,
When nothing was to see
But her Carrara guide-post, —
At our stupidity,
When, duller than our dulness,
The busy darling lay,
So busy was she, finishing,
So leisurely were we!
The busy darling lay,
So busy was she, finishing,
So leisurely were we!
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