Emily Dickinson - Her—"last Poems" (312) lyrics

Her—"last Poems"— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other, Flute—or Woman— So divine— Not unto its Summer—Morning Robin—uttered Half the Tune— Gushed too free for the Adoring— From the Anglo-Florentine— Late—the Praise— 'Tis dull—conferring On the Head too High to Crown— Diadem—or Ducal Showing— Be its Grave—sufficient sign— Nought—that We—No Poet's Kinsman— Suffocate—with easy woe— What, and if, Ourself a Bridegroom— Put Her down—in Italy?