Final Summer Roses

WHEN roses cease to bloom, dear,

And violets are done,

When bumble-bees in solemn flight

Have passed beyond the sun,



The hand that paused to gather 

Upon this summer’s day

Will idle lie, in Auburn,—

Then take my flower, pray!

 
 
 
 
 
Thinking of those we lost over the summer.....

Miss Dickinson supplies the words.

Here's a link to Emily's lexicon where I learned that Auburn is the name of a cemetery which boasts an impressive list of residents.