Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
935 Death leaves Us homesick, who behind, Except that it is gone Are ignorant of its Concern As if it were not born. Through all their former Places, we Like Individuals go Who something lost, the seeking for Is all that's left them, now—
Added: 6 Oct 2002 | Last Read: 4 Sep 2026 12:38 AM | Viewed: 9306 times
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