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God made a little Gentian—
It tried—to be a Rose—
And failed—and all the Summer laughed—
But just before the Snows
There rose a Purple Creature—
That ravished all the Hill—
And Summer hid her Forehead—
And Mockery—was still—
The Frosts were her condition—
The Tyrian would not come
Until the North—invoke it—
Creator—Shall I—bloom?
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- I See Thee Better—in The Dark
- Had I Presumed To Hope
- The Child's Faith Is New
- The Name—of It—is 'Autumn'
- I Watched The Moon Around The House (629)