She Sweeps With Many-Colored Brooms, By Emily Dickinson

    She sweeps with many-colored brooms,
    And leaves the shreds behind;
    Oh, housewife in the evening west,
    Come back, and dust the pond!

    You dropped a purple ravelling in,
    You dropped an amber thread;
    And now you ‘ve littered all the East
    With duds of emerald!

    And still she plies her spotted brooms,
    And still the aprons fly,
    Till brooms fade softly into stars —
    And then I come away.