Emily Dickinson

In Falling Timbers Buried

poem 614

In falling Timbers buried There breathed a Man Outside the spades were plying The Lungs within Could He know they sought Him Could They know He breathed Horrid Sand Partition Neither could be heard Never slacked the Diggers But when Spades had done Oh, Reward of Anguish, It was dying Then Many Things are fruitless ‘Tis a Baffling Earth But there is no Gratitude Like the Grace of Death

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