XLV As imperceptibly as grief

Emily Dickinson

As imperceptibly as grief
The summer lapsed away,--
Too imperceptible, at last, 
To seem like perfody. 

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 who would be gone.

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