Poems by Emily Dickinson: XLVI ("It can't be summer")

Updated May 6, 2020 | Infoplease Staff
by EmilyDickinson
XLV
Summer's Obsequies

XLVI

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.
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