566 <br /> <br />A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— <br />I hunted all the Sand— <br />I caught the Dripping of a Rock <br />And bore it in my Hand— <br /> <br />His Mighty Balls—in death were thick— <br />But searching—I could see <br />A Vision on the Retina <br />Of Water—and of me— <br /> <br />'Twas not my blame—who sped too slow— <br />'Twas not his blame—who died <br />While I was reaching him— <br />But 'twas—the fact that He was dead—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dying-tiger-mdash-moaned-for-drink/
