We all know Emily Dickinson was a great poet. Or we think we know she was because of what we have heard. Isn't it funny that some poems, only a few verses long, seem as though they could have been discarded rantings of a schoolchild? Poem 16 in the grouping we are reading is one stanza, four verses about the onset of evening. Such large words like "presentiment", "indicative", and "darkness" feel like a stretching "shadow on the lawn" (1) of our language....fluid, smooth lines.
It makes one wonder if these little ditties Emmily Dickinson had been putting in people's boquets of flowers were ever at all part of a series, something she could have sewn together into a poetic tapestry of one long movement.