brush the Summer by With half a smile

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, 

I’d wind the months in balls— 

And put them each in separate Drawers, 

For fear the numbers fuse—If only Centuries, delayed, 

I’d count them on my Hand, 

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, 

And take Eternity—But now, uncertain of the length 

Of this, that is between, 

It goads me, like the Goblin Bee— 

That will not state—its sting. 

 

Listen to it here

 

[Emily Dickinson {1830-1886} 'If You Were Coming in the Fall', from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson]