Emily Dickinson Poems

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Her final Summer was it --
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
It made the hurry plain --

We wondered at our blindness
When nothing was to see
But Her Carrara Guide post --
At Our Stupidity --

When duller than our dullness
The Busy Darling lay --
So busy was she -- finishing --
So leisurely -- were We --

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