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Read the poem: “It can’t be summer, — that got through”

by Emily Dickinson

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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < Is bliss, then, such abyss
It was not death, for I stood up > > >

It can’t be summer, — that got through

It can’t be summer, — that got through;

It ‘s early yet for spring;

There ‘s that long town of white to cross

Before the blackbirds sing.

It can’t be dying, — it’s too rouge, —

The dead shall go in white.

So sunset shuts my question down

With clasps of chrysolite.


< < < Is bliss, then, such abyss
It was not death, for I stood up > > >

American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson

Copyright holders –  Public Domain

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