Dying.
The sun kept setting, setting still; No hue of afternoon Upon the village I perceived, -- From house to house 't was noon. The dusk kept dropping, dropping still; No dew upon the grass, But only on my forehead stopped, And wandered in my face. My feet kept drowsing, drowsing still, My fingers were awake; Yet why so little sound myself Unto my seeming make? How well I knew the light before! I could not see it now. 'T is dying, I am doing; but I'm not afraid to know.
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"The sun kept setting, setting still;..."
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "Dying."... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...