The name—of it—is “Autumn”—, por Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

The name—of it—is “Autumn”—

656

The name—of it—is “Autumn”—

The hue—of it—is Blood—

An Artery—upon the Hill—

A Vein—along the Road—

Great Globules—in the Alleys—

And Oh, the Shower of Stain—

When Winds—upset the Basin—

And spill the Scarlet Rain—

It sprinkles Bonnets—far below—

It gathers ruddy Pools—

Then—eddies like a Rose—away—

Upon Vermilion Wheels—

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Emily Dickinson