Emily Dickinson

(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

'Tis Not That Dying Hurts Us So - Poem by Emily Dickinson

335

'Tis not that Dying hurts us so—
'Tis Living—hurts us more—
But Dying—is a different way—
A Kind behind the Door—

The Southern Custom—of the Bird—
That ere the Frosts are due—
Accepts a better Latitude—
We—are the Birds—that stay.

The Shrivers round Farmers' doors—
For whose reluctant Crumb—
We stipulate—till pitying Snows
Persuade our Feathers Home.


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Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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