’Tis Not That Dying Hurts Us So, by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

’Tis Not That Dying Hurts Us So

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.

#AmericanWriters

Liked or faved by...

Other works by Emily Dickinson...

Dare You See a Soul at the White Heat?

365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore

Despair’s Advantage Is Achieved

799 Despair’s advantage is achieved By suffering—Despair— To be assisted of Reverse One must Reverse have bore—

Herein a Blossom Lies

899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.

This Bauble Was Preferred of Bees

805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—

The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune

285 The Robin’s my Criterion for Tun… Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I’d swear by him—

Love XIV. I’m ceded, I ’ve stopped being theirs (508)

XIV I’M ceded, I ’ve stopped being th… The name they dropped upon my face With water, in the country church, Is finished using now,

By the Sea

I started early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me. And frigates in the upper floor

To Hear an Oriole Sing

526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird

The Body Grows Without

578 The Body grows without— The more convenient way— That if the Spirit—like to hide Its Temple stands, alway,

Surgeons Must Be Very Careful

108 Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit—Life!

It Ceased to Hurt Me, Though So Slow

584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…

Funny—to be a Century

345 Funny—to be a Century— And see the People—going by— I—should die of the Oddity— But then—I’m not so staid—as He—

Love XII. I cannot live with you

XII I CANNOT live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf

My Period Had Come for Prayer

564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?

Three times—we parted—Breath—and I—

598 Three times—we parted—Breath—and… Three times—He would not go— But strove to stir the lifeless F… The Waters—strove to stay.

Emily Dickinson