469
The Red—Blaze—is the Morning—
The Violet—is Noon—
The Yellow—Day—is falling—
And after that—is none—
But Miles of Sparks—at Evening—
Reveal the Width that burned—
The Territory Argent—that
Never yet—consumed—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- The Day Undressed&Mdash;Herself
- Is It Too Late To Touch You, Dear?
- The Months Have Ends—the Years—a Knot
- Over And Over, Like A Tune
- To See Her Is A Picture