614 <br /> <br />In falling Timbers buried— <br />There breathed a Man— <br />Outside—the spades—were plying— <br />The Lungs—within— <br /> <br />Could He—know—they sought Him— <br />Could They—know—He breathed— <br />Horrid Sand Partition— <br />Neither—could be heard— <br /> <br />Never slacked the Diggers— <br />But when Spades had done— <br />Oh, Reward of Anguish, <br />It was dying—Then— <br /> <br />Many Things—are fruitless— <br />'Tis a Baffling Earth— <br />But there is no Gratitude <br />Like the Grace—of Death—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-falling-timbers-buried/
