Emily Dickinson

It Don’T Sound So Terrible quite as It Did

poem 426

It don’t sound so terrible quite as it did I run it over Dead, Brain, Dead. Put it in Latin left of my school Seems it don’t shriek so under rule. Turn it, a little full in the face A Trouble looks bitterest Shift it just Say When Tomorrow comes this way I shall have waded down one Day. I suppose it will interrupt me some Till I get accustomed but then the Tomb Like other new Things shows largest then And smaller, by Habit It’s shrewder then Put the Thought in advance a Year How like a fit then Murder wear!

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