Explore "At Length" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Her final summer was it, / And yet we guessed it not; / If tenderer industriousness / Pervaded her, we thought
A further force of life / Developed from within, -- / When Death lit all the shortness up, / And made the hurry plain.
We wondered at our blindness, -- / When nothing was to see / But her Carrara guide-post, -- / At our stupidity,
When, duller than our dullness, / The busy darling lay, / So busy was she, finishing, / So leisurely were we!