Midsummer, was it, when They died --
A full, and perfect time --
The Summer closed upon itself
In Consummated Bloom --
The Corn, her furthest kernel filled
Before the coming Flail --
When These -- leaned unto Perfectness --
Through Haze of Burial --
Midsummer, was it, when They died --
written byEmily Dickinson
© Emily Dickinson
