Emily Dickinson

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

The Winters Are So Short - Poem by Emily Dickinson

403

The Winters are so short—
I'm hardly justified
In sending all the Birds away—
And moving into Pod—

Myself—for scarcely settled—
The Phoebes have begun—
And then—it's time to strike my Tent—
And open House—again—

It's mostly, interruptions—
My Summer—is despoiled—
Because there was a Winter—once—
And al the Cattle—starved—

And so there was a Deluge—
And swept the World away—
But Ararat's a Legend—now—
And no one credits Noah—


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Read poems about / on: winter, summer, house, world, time



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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