Emily Dickinson Poems

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'Twas just this time, last year, I died.
I know I heard the Corn,
When I was carried by the Farms --
It had the Tassels on --

I thought how yellow it would look --
When Richard went to mill --
And then, I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I thought just how Red -- Apples wedged
The Stubble's joints between --
And the Carts stooping round the fields
To take the Pumpkins in --

I wondered which would miss me, least,
And when Thanksgiving, came,
If Father'd multiply the plates --
To make an even Sum --

And would it blur the Christmas glee
My Stocking hang too high
For any Santa Claus to reach
The Altitude of me --

But this sort, grieved myself,
And so, I thought the other way,
How just this time, some perfect year --
Themself, should come to me --

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