Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
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!
Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 20 Nov 2008 1:51 PM | Viewed: 4805 times
A custom PoetryNotes™ eBook may be ordered for this poem. Get help with your homework - delivered in 5-6 days.
For more information...
![[home]](http://plagiarist.com/images/home.gif)
Emily Dickinson
Print
Analysis
Comments