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Her "last Poems&quot

Her “last Poems”
Poets ended
Silver perished with her Tongue
Not on Record bubbled other,
Flute or Woman
So divine
Not unto its Summer Morning
Robin uttered Half the Tune
Gushed too free for the Adoring
From the Anglo-Florentine
Late the Praise
‘Tis dull conferring
On the Head too High to Crown
Diadem or Ducal Showing
Be its Grave sufficient sign
Nought that We No Poet’s Kinsman
Suffocate with easy woe
What, and if, Ourself a Bridegroom
Put Her down in Italy?


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Poem Her "last Poems&quot - Emily Dickinson
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