Summer’s Armies. By Emily Dickinson

    Some rainbow coming from the fair!
    Some vision of the world Cashmere
    I confidently see!
    Or else a peacock’s purple train,
    Feather by feather, on the plain
    Fritters itself away!

    The dreamy butterflies bestir,
    Lethargic pools resume the whir
    Of last year’s sundered tune.
    From some old fortress on the sun
    Baronial bees march, one by one,
    In murmuring platoon!

    The robins stand as thick to-day
    As flakes of snow stood yesterday,
    On fence and roof and twig.
    The orchis binds her feather on
    For her old lover, Don the Sun,
    Revisiting the bog!

    Without commander, countless, still,
    The regiment of wood and hill
    In bright detachment stand.
    Behold! Whose multitudes are these?
    The children of whose turbaned seas,
    Or what Circassian land?