It Can't Be 'summer'!
Emily Dickinson
221 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 Cuffs of Chrysolite!
Next 10 Poems
- Emily Dickinson : It Ceased To Hurt Me, Though So Slow
- Emily Dickinson : It Did Not Surprise Me
- Emily Dickinson : It Don't Sound So Terrible-quite-as It Did
- Emily Dickinson : It Dropped So Low In My Regard
- Emily Dickinson : It Feels A Shame To Be Alive
- Emily Dickinson : It Is A Lonesome Glee
- Emily Dickinson : It Is An Honorable Thought,
- Emily Dickinson : It Is Easy To Work When The Soul Is At Play
- Emily Dickinson : It Knew No Lapse, Nor Diminuation
- Emily Dickinson : It Knew No Medicine
Previous 10 Poems
- Emily Dickinson : It Came His Turn To Beg-
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- Emily Dickinson : It Always Felt To Me-a Wrong
- Emily Dickinson : Is It True, Dear Sue?
- Emily Dickinson : Is It Too Late To Touch You, Dear?
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- Emily Dickinson : Is Bliss Then, Such Abyss
