Back to Index

The cricket sang

by Emily Dickinson, 1896

The cricket sang,
And set the sun,
And workmen finished, one by one,
  Their seam the day upon.

The low grass loaded with the dew,
The twilight stood as strangers do
With hat in hand, polite and new,
  To stay as if, or go.

A vastness, as a neighbor, came, —
A wisdom without face or name,
A peace, as hemispheres at home, —
  And so the night became.

Published in Poems by Emily Dickinson: Third Series
Tags:

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.