'Tis not that Dying hurts us so --

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Written by:

Emily Dickinson (other works)

Poem #:

335

Composed:

Published:

Volume:

Language:

English

Type:

Poetry

Form:

Rhyme:

Preceded by:

All the letters I can write -334-

Succeeded by:

The face I carry with me -- last -- -336-

Wikipedia article </table>

'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.