Emily Dickinson - The Color of the Grave is Green (411) lyrics

The Color of the Grave is Green— The Outer Grave—I mean— You would not know it from the Field— Except it own a Stone— To help the fond—to find it— Too infinite asleep To stop and tell them where it is— But just a Daisy—deep— The Color of the Grave is white— The outer Grave—I mean— You would not know it from the Drifts— In Winter—till the Sun— Has furrowed out the Aisles— Then—higher than the Land The little Dwelling Houses rise Where each—has left a friend— The Color of the Grave within— The Duplicate—I mean— Not all the Snows could make it white— Not all the Summers—Green— You've seen the Color—maybe— Upon a Bonnet bound— When that you met it with before— The Ferret—cannot find—