Emily Dickinson Poems >>
How fits his Umber Coat

How fits his Umber Coat
The Tailor of the Nut?
Combined without a seam
Like Raiment of a Dream --

Who spun the Auburn Cloth?
Computed how the girth?
The Chestnut aged grows
In those primeval Clothes --

We know that we are wise --
Accomplished in Surprise --
Yet by this Countryman --
This nature -- how undone!