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The Gentian weaves her fringes

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Written by Emily Dickinson

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 The Gentian weaves her fringes --
The Maple's loom is red --
My departing blossoms
Obviate parade.
A brief, but patient illness -- An hour to prepare, And one below this morning Is where the angels are -- It was a short procession, The Bobolink was there -- An aged Bee addressed us -- And then we knelt in prayer -- We trust that she was willing -- We ask that we may be.
Summer -- Sister -- Seraph! Let us go with thee! In the name of the Bee -- And of the Butterfly -- And of the Breeze -- Amen!


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