Emily Dickinson

poems:

15

dying

I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form was like the stillness in the air between the heaves of storm. The eyes beside had wrung them dry, and breaths were gathering sure for that last onset, when the king be witnessed in his power. I willed my keepsakes, signed away what portion of me I could make assignable, — and then there interposed a fly, with blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz, between the light and me; And then the windows failed, and then I could not see to see.

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