An Emily Dickinson Poem

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?