In falling Timbers buried --
In falling Timbers buried --
There breathed a Man --
Outside -- the spades -- were plying --
The Lungs -- within --
Could He -- know -- they sought Him --
Could They -- know -- He breathed --
Horrid Sand Partition --
Neither -- could be heard --
Never slacked the Diggers --
But when Spades had done --
Oh, Reward of Anguish,
It was dying -- Then --
Many Things -- are fruitless --
'Tis a Baffling Earth --
But there is no Gratitude
Like the Grace -- of Death --
Poem by
Emily Dickinson
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