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This Are the Days When Birds Come Back -Emily Dickinson These are the days when birds come back, A very few, a bird or two, To take a backward look. These are the days when skies put on The old, old sophistries of June,--
And softly through the altered air Hurries a timid leaf! Oh, sacrament of summer days, Oh, last communion in the haze, Permit a child to join,
A blue and gold mistake. Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee, Almost thy plausibility Induces my belief, Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
Thy sacred emblems to partake, Thy consecrated bread to break, Taste thine immortal wine!
