Poems (Dickinson)/Dying

by Emily Dickinson

For other versions of this work, see The Sun kept setting—setting—still.

XXV.

DYING.

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.