Emily Dickinson - Tho' my destiny be Fustian lyrics

163 Tho' my destiny be Fustian Hers be damask fine Tho' she wear a silver apron I, a less divine Still, my little Gypsy being I would far prefer Still, my little sunburnt bosom To her Rosier For, when Frosts, their punctual fingers On her forehead lay You and I, and Dr. Holland Bloom Eternally! Roses of a steadfast summer In a steadfast land Where no Autumn lifts her pencil And no Reapers stand!