Poemsby Emily Dickinson

Nature's Changes

 The springtime's pallid landscape   Will glow like bright bouquet, Though drifted deep in parian   The village lies to-day. 
 The lilacs, bending many a year,   With purple load will hang; The bees will not forget the tune   Their old forefathers sang. 
 The rose will redden in the bog,   The aster on the hill Her everlasting fashion set,   And covenant gentians frill, 
 Till summer folds her miracle   As women do their gown, Or priests adjust the symbols   When sacrament is done.