Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - second series (1891).djvu/182

 170 POEMS.


 * XLVII.


 * SUMMER'S OBSEQUIES.

HE 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.