There is a Zone whose even Years
No Solstice interrupt —
Whose Sun constructs perpetual Noon
Whose perfect Seasons wait —
Whose Summer set in Summer, till
The Centuries of June
And Centuries of August cease
And Consciousness — is Noon.
(Emily Dickinson)
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Based on Topics: Summer PoemsBased on Keywords: perfect, centuries, august, seasons, consciousness, perpetual, zone, interrupt, solstice, constructs