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Emily Dickinson - It can`t be
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It can`t be "Summer"!
That—got through!
It`s early—yet—for "Spring"!
There`s that long town of White—to cross—
Before the Blackbirds sing!
It can`t be "Dying"!
It`s too Rouge—
The Dead shall go in White—
So Sunset shuts my question down
With Cuffs of Chrysolite!
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