726
We thirst at first—'tis Nature's Act—
And later—when we die—
A little Water supplicate—
Of fingers going by—
It intimates the finer want—
Whose adequate supply
Is that Great Water in the West—
Termed Immortality—
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Should You But Fail At—sea
- Ourselves Were Wed One Summer—dear
- Of Being Is A Bird
- We Cover Thee—sweet Face
- Good Night, Because We Must