If You Were Coming in the Fall
If You Were Coming in the Fall
Poem by Emily Dickinson
If you were coming in the Fall,
I’d brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I’d wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers
For fear the numbers fuse.
If only centuries delayed,
I’d count them on my hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman’s land.
If certain, when this life was out
That yours and mine would be,
I’d toss it yonder, like a rind,
And take Eternity.
But now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.
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