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Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.

715

The World—feels Dusty
When We stop to Die—
We want the Dew—then—
Honors—taste dry—

Flags—vex a Dying face—
But the least Fan
Stirred by a friend's Hand—
Cools—like the Rain—

Mine be the Ministry
When they Thirst comes—
And Hybla Balms—
Dews of Thessaly, to fetch—

Added: 30 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 24 Sep 2026 3:19 AM | Viewed: 9561 times

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