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! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SAVING WAY by HAYDEN CARRUTH HIGH PLAINS RAG by JAMES GALVIN WE CAN'T WRITE OURSELVES INTO ETERNAL LIFE by DAVID IGNATOW ON A VOLUME OF SCHOLASTIC PHILOSOPHY by GEORGE SANTAYANA ROBERT FROST RELATES THE DEATH OF THE TIRED MAN by LOUIS UNTERMEYER |