A Quietness Distilled

 As imperceptibly as grief
 The summer lapsed away,
 Too imperceptible at last
 To feel like perfidy.

 A quietness distilled,
 As twilight long begun,
 Or Nature spending with herself
 Sequestered afternoon.

 The dusk drew earlier in,
 The morning foreign shone,
 A courteous yet harrowing grace
 As guest that would be gone.

 And thus without a wing
 Or service of a keel
 Our summer made her light escape
 Into the Beautiful.

                                         Emily Dickinson.