The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee... - Emily Dickinson

After you went, a low wind warbled through the house like a spacious bird, making it high but lonely. When you had gone the love came. I supposed it would. The supper of the heart is when the guest has gone.

Much Madness is divinest Sense -
To a discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness -

If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by,
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.