If you were coming in the fall
In "If you were coming in the fall," Emily Dickinson turns the ache of waiting into a poem of five quiet stanzas. A speaker imagines brushing summer aside like a housewife shooing a fly, winding months into balls of thread, and counting centuries on her fingers. Each promise of patience grows more extravagant, until uncertainty undoes her calm. The poem balances playful domestic images against deep longing, and the closing stanza sharpens into a sting.
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The skinny
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