Gone. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Went up a year this evening!
    I recollect it well!
    Amid no bells nor bravos
    The bystanders will tell!
    Cheerful, as to the village,
    Tranquil, as to repose,
    Chastened, as to the chapel,
    This humble tourist rose.
    Did not talk of returning,
    Alluded to no time
    When, were the gales propitious,
    We might look for him;
    Was grateful for the roses
    In life’s diverse bouquet,
    Talked softly of new species
    To pick another day.

    Beguiling thus the wonder,
    The wondrous nearer drew;
    Hands bustled at the moorings —
    The crowd respectful grew.
    Ascended from our vision
    To countenances new!
    A difference, a daisy,
    Is all the rest I knew!