Emily Dickinson - Letter 207 (September 1859) - no ms. Dr. and Mrs. J. G. Holland lyrics

Dear Hollands, Belong to me! We have no fires yet, and the evenings grow cold. To-morrow, stoves are set. How many barefoot shiver I trust their Father knows who saw not fit to give them shoes. Vinnie is sick to-night, which gives the world a russet tinge, usually so red. It is only a headache, but when the head aches next to you, it becomes important. When she is well, time leaps. When she is ill, he lags, or stops entirely. Sisters are brittle things. God was penurious with me, which makes me shrewd with Him. One is a dainty sum! One bird, one cage, one flight; one song in those far woods, as yet suspected by faith only! This is September, and you were coming September. Come! Our parting is too long. There has been frost enough. We must have summer now, and "whole legions" of daisies. The gentian is a greedy flower, and overtakes us all. Indeed, this world is short, and I wish, until I tremble, to touch the ones I love before the hills are red - are gray - are white - are "born again"! If we knew how deep the crocus lay, we never should let her go. Still, crocuses stud many mounds whose gardeneres till in anguish some tiny, vanished bulb. We saw you that Saturday afternoon, but heedlessly forgot to ask where you were going, so did not know, and could not write. Vinnie saw Minnie flying by, one afternoon at Palmer. She supposed you were all there on your way from the sea, and untied her fancy! To say that her fancy wheedled her is superfluous. We talk of you together, then diverge on life, then hide in you again, as a safe fold. Don't leave us long, dear friends! You know we're children still, and children fear the dark. Are you well at home? Do you work now? Has it altered much since I was there? Are the children women, and the women thinking it will be afternoon? We will help each other bear our unique burdens. Is Minnie with you now? Take her our love, if she is. Do her eyes grieve her now? Tell her she may have half ours. Mother's favorite sister is sick, and mother will have to bid her good-night. It brings mists to us all; - the aunt whom Vinnie visits, with whom she spent, I fear, her last inland Christmas. Does God take care of those at sea? My aunt is such a timid woman! Will you write to us? I bring you all their loves - many. They tire me. Emilie.