At Length.
Her final summer was it, And yet we guessed it not; If tenderer industriousness Pervaded her, we thought A further force of life Developed from within, -- When Death lit all the shortness up, And made the hurry plain. We wondered at our blindness, -- When nothing was to see But her Carrara guide-post, -- At our stupidity, When, duller than our dulness, The busy darling lay, So busy was she, finishing, So leisurely were we!
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"Her final summer was it,..."
This evocative piece by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, titled "At Length.", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...
