1773
The Summer that we did not prize,
Her treasures were so easy
Instructs us by departing now
And recognition lazy-
Bestirs itself-puts on its Coat,
And scans with fatal promptness
For Trains that moment out of sight,
Unconscious of his smartness.
The Summer That We Did Not Prize
Emily Dickinson
(1)
Poem topics: summer, moment, easy, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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