Emily Dickinson

(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

It Don'T Sound So Terrible—quite—as It Did - Poem by Emily Dickinson

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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Read poems about / on: murder, school, running



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004



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