189
It's such a little thing to weep—
So short a thing to sigh—
And yet—by Trades—the size of these
We men and women die!
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- What Shall I Do When The Summer Troubles
- Dying At My Music
- If This Is "Fading"
- It's Coming—the Postponeless Creature
- When We Stand On The Tops Of Things