English poetry

Poems in English

‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so

‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so

‘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.



Poem ‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so - Emily Dickinson