Emily Dickinson

The Color Of The Grave Is Green

poem 411

The Color of the Grave is Green The Outer Grave I mean You would not know it from the Field Except it own a Stone To help the fond to find it Too infinite asleep To stop and tell them where it is But just a Daisy deep The Color of the Grave is white The outer Grave I mean You would not know it from the Drifts In Winter till the Sun Has furrowed out the Aisles Then higher than the Land The little Dwelling Houses rise Where each has left a friend The Color of the Grave within The Duplicate I mean Not all the Snows could make it white Not all the Summers Green You’ve seen the Color maybe Upon a Bonnet bound When that you met it with before The Ferret cannot find

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