It don’t sound so terrible—quite—as it did lyrics

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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