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Like her the Saints retire,
In their Chapeaux of fire,
Martial as she!
Like her the Evenings steal
Purple and Cochineal
After the Day!
"Departed"—both&mdash ;they say!
i.e. gathered away,
Not found,
Argues the Aster still—
Reasons the Daffodil
Profound!
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Of Tolling Bell I Ask The Cause?
- While Asters&Mdash;
- The Heaven Vests For Each
- The Sweetest Heresy Received
- Where Bells No More Affright The Morn
