Читать книгу Dickinson: The Complete Works - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 249
XLVI. "It can't be summer,—that got through"
ОглавлениеIt 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.