Apparently with no surprise,
To any happy flower,
The frost beheads it at its play,
In accidental power.
The blond assassin passes on.
The sun proceeds unmoved,
To measure off another day,
For an approving God.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- A Happy Lip&Mdash;Breaks Sudden
- Ah, Moon—and Star!
- After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes
- A Fuzzy Fellow, Without Feet
- Ample Make This Bed.