These Are the Days When Birds Come Back, by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

These Are the Days When Birds Come Back

130

These are the days when Birds come back—

A very few—a Bird or two—

To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies resume

The old—old sophistries of June—

A blue and gold mistake.

Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee—

Almost thy plausibility

Induces my belief.

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear—

And softly thro’ the altered air

Hurries a timid leaf.

Oh Sacrament of summer days,

Oh Last Communion in the Haze—

Permit a child to join.

Thy sacred emblems to partake—

They consecrated bread to take

And thine immortal wine!

#AmericanWriters

Liked or faved by...

Other works by Emily Dickinson...

When Night Is Almost Done

347 When Night is almost done— And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces— It’s time to smooth the Hair—

Impossibility, Like Wine

838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine

After Great Pain, a Formal Feeling Comes

After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—

The Robin for the Crumb

864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.

If You Were Coming in the Fall,

If you were coming in the fall, I’d brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spum, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year,

The Manner of Its Death

468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—

The Feet of People Walking Home

7 The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go— The Crocus—til she rises The Vassal of the snow—

It’s Like the Light,—

It’s like the light,— A fashionless delight It’s like the bee,— A dateless melody. It’s like the woods,

I Cannot Live With You (No. 640)

I cannot live with You— It would be Life— And Life is over there— Behind the Shelf The Sexton keeps the Key to—

You Cannot Put a Fire Out

530 You cannot put a Fire out— A Thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a Fan— Upon the slowest Night—

537 Me prove it now—Whoever doubt

Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity— The River reaches to my feet—

’Tis Good—the looking back on grief

660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—

If I May Have It, When It’s Dead

577 If I may have it, when it’s dead, I’ll be contented—so— If just as soon as Breath is out It shall belong to me—

As Watchers Hang Upon the East

121 As Watchers hang upon the East, As Beggars revel at a feast By savory Fancy spread— As brooks in deserts babble sweet

So glad we are—a Stranger’d deem

329 So glad we are—a Stranger’d deem ’Twas sorry, that we were— For where the Holiday should be There publishes a Tear—

Emily Dickinson