After a drawn-out storm, a rainbow lifts over the horizon while late-morning sun breaks through. The clouds straggle down like weary, listless elephants—an image that makes the clearing sky feel drowsy and gentle. Birds sing from their nests, the gales have died, and the earth seems to relax. The storm is truly over, the weather drained of its anger. Yet just as this peace settles, the speaker’s voice tightens: “Alas, how heedless were the eyes / On whom the summer shone!” Someone failed to see all this brightness. She was already dead, untouched by the morning’s revival. The last stanza turns to the stillness of the grave, a “quiet nonchalance” that no sunrise can stir. Only an archangel’s slow syllables—those final trumpet calls—will awaken her. Dickinson captures a day that is outwardly serene but secretly fractured by loss. The mood shimmers with both relief and a tender, aching grief, a feeling that stays like a faint shadow on a bright morning.
On this long storm the Rainbow rose — Summary
On this long storm the Rainbow rose -- On this late Morn -- the Sun -- The clouds -- like listless Elephants -- Horizons -- straggled down --
The Birds rose smiling, in their nests -- The gales -- indeed -- were done -- Alas, how heedless were the eyes -- On whom the summer shone!
The quiet nonchalance of death -- No Daybreak -- can bestir -- The slow -- Archangel's syllables Must awaken her!