Nature’s Changes. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

    The springtime’s pallid landscape
    Will glow like bright bouquet,
    Though drifted deep in parian
    The village lies to-day.

    The lilacs, bending many a year,
    With purple load will hang;
    The bees will not forget the tune
    Their old forefathers sang.

    The rose will redden in the bog,
    The aster on the hill
    Her everlasting fashion set,
    And covenant gentians frill,

    Till summer folds her miracle
    As women do their gown,
    Or priests adjust the symbols
    When sacrament is done.