Emily Dickinson Poems

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The Winters are so short --
I'm hardly justified
In sending all the Birds away --
And moving into Pod --

Myself -- for scarcely settled --
The Phoebes have begun --
And then -- it's time to strike my Tent --
And open House -- again --

It's mostly, interruptions --
My Summer -- is despoiled --
Because there was a Winter -- once --
And al the Cattle -- starved --

And so there was a Deluge --
And swept the World away --
But Ararat's a Legend -- now --
And no one credits Noah --

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