| 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, | 5 |
| I ’d wind the months in balls, | |
| And put them each in separate drawers, | |
| Until their time befalls. | |
| If only centuries delayed, | |
| I ’d count them on my hand, | 10 |
| Subtracting till my fingers dropped | |
| Into Van Diemen’s land. | |
| If certain, when this life was out, | |
| That yours and mine should be, | |
| I ’d toss it yonder like a rind, | 15 |
| And taste eternity. | |
| But now, all ignorant of the length | |
| Of time’s uncertain wing, | |
| It goads me, like the goblin bee, | |
| That will not state its sting. | 20 |
Emily Dickinson
