Her final Summer was it by Emily Dickinson Lyrics

Her final Summer was it
And yet We guessed it not
If tenderer industriousness
Pervaded Her, We thought

A further force of life
Developed from within
When Death lit all the shortness up
It made the hurry plain

We wondered at our blindness
When nothing was to see
But Her Carrara Guide post
At Our Stupidity

When duller than our dullness
The Busy Darling lay
So busy was she—finishing
So leisurely—were We