I cried at Pity — not at Pain —
I heard a Woman say
"Poor Child" — and something in her voice
Convicted me — of me —
So long I fainted, to myself
It seemed the common way,
And Health, and Laughter, Curious things —
To look at, like a Toy —
To sometimes hear "Rich people" buy
And see the Parcel rolled —
And carried, I supposed — to Heaven,
For children, made of Gold —
But not to touch, or wish for,
Or think of, with a sigh —
And so and so — had been to me,
Had God willed differently.
I wish I knew that Woman's name —
So when she comes this way,
To hold my life, and hold my ears
For fear I hear her say
She's "sorry I am dead" — again —
Just when the Grave and I —
Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep,
Our only Lullaby —
| Poetry by Emily Dickinson (edit list): | |
| By letter of the alphabet: | A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, Y. |
| By Johnson's index number | 1-99, 100-199, 200-299, 300-399, 400-499, 500-599, 600-699, 700-799, 800-899, 900-999, 1000-1099, 1100-1199, 1200-1299, 1300-1399, 1400-1499, 1500-1599, 1600-1699, 1700-1775. |