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