When Roses Cease To Bloom, Dear


When roses cease to bloom, dear
and violets are done,
When bumblebees in solemn flight
Have passed beyond the sun,

The hand that paused to gather
Upon this summer's day
Will idle lie, in Auburn.--
Then take my flower, pray!


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Return to the Emily Dickinson Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; "Why do I love" You, Sir?

It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.