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.
It Can't Be Summer,
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
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Poem topics: spring, summer, sunset, long, town, question, early, white, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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