Explore "Indian Summer" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
These are the days when birds come back, / A very few, a bird or two, / To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies put on / The old, old sophistries of June, -- / A blue and gold mistake.
Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee, / Almost thy plausibility / Induces my belief,
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear, / And softly through the altered air / Hurries a timid leaf!
Oh, sacrament of summer days, / Oh, last communion in the haze, / Permit a child to join,
Thy sacred emblems to partake, / Thy consecrated bread to break, / Taste thine immortal wine!