332
There are two Ripenings—one—of sight—
Whose forces Spheric wind
Until the Velvet product
Drop spicy to the ground—
A homelier maturing—
A process in the Bur—
That teeth of Frosts alone disclose
In far October Air.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Reverse Cannot Befall
- Least Rivers—docile To Some Sea
- They Have A Little Odor—that To Me
- I'M Sorry For The Dead—today
- This Dust, And Its Feature