Poem Hunter
After A Hundred Years
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

After A Hundred Years

Poem By Emily Dickinson

After a hundred years
Nobody knows the place,--
Agony, that enacted there,
Motionless as peace.

Weeds triumphant ranged,
Strangers strolled and spelled
At the lone orthography
Of the elder dead.

Winds of summer fields
Recollect the way,--
Instinct picking up the key
Dropped by memory.

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Comments (5)

To memorize give you pleasure . but better is that you let it go with the wind.
..........very nice, vivid and imaginative ★
A hundred years is a long time.
Always a pleasure to read :)
Always a pleasure to read :)