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I know a place where Summer strives
Emily Dickinson
337 I know a place where Summer strives With such a practised Frost— She—each year—leads her Daisies back— Recording briefly—”Lost”— But when the South Wind stirs the Pools And struggles in the lanes— Her Heart misgives Her, for Her Vow— And she pours soft Refrains Into the lap of Adamant— And spices—and the Dew— That stiffens quietly to Quartz— Upon her Amber Shoe—
