Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
566 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—
Added: 2 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 27 May 2012 3:53 AM | Viewed: 7791 times
A custom PoetryNotes™ eBook may be ordered for this poem. Get help with your homework - delivered in 5-6 days.
For more information...
![[home]](http://plagiarist.com/images/home.gif)
Emily Dickinson
Print
Analysis
Comments