335 <br /> <br />'Tis not that Dying hurts us so— <br />'Tis Living—hurts us more— <br />But Dying—is a different way— <br />A Kind behind the Door— <br /> <br />The Southern Custom—of the Bird— <br />That ere the Frosts are due— <br />Accepts a better Latitude— <br />We—are the Birds—that stay. <br /> <br />The Shrivers round Farmers' doors— <br />For whose reluctant Crumb— <br />We stipulate—till pitying Snows <br />Persuade our Feathers Home.<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tis-not-that-dying-hurts-us-so/
