Explore "Dying" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.