Emily Dickinson Poems

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A Dying Tiger -- moaned for Drink --
I hunted all the Sand --
I caught the Dripping of a Rock
And bore it in my Hand --

His Mighty Balls -- in death were thick --
But searching -- I could see
A Vision on the Retina
Of Water -- and of me --

'Twas not my blame -- who sped too slow --
'Twas not his blame -- who died
While I was reaching him --
But 'twas -- the fact that He was dead --

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