GOD made a little gentian;
It tried to be a rose
And failed, and all the summer laughed.
But just before the snows
There came 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 evoked it.
"Creator! shall I bloom?"
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Chicago: Emily Dickinson, "XLVIII.," Poems, Second Series Original Sources, accessed June 30, 2025, http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=D2TTZBMX1F2LP8F.
MLA: Dickinson, Emily. "XLVIII." Poems, Second Series, Original Sources. 30 Jun. 2025. http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=D2TTZBMX1F2LP8F.
Harvard: Dickinson, E, 'XLVIII.' in Poems, Second Series. Original Sources, retrieved 30 June 2025, from http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=D2TTZBMX1F2LP8F.