566
A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink—
I hunted all the Sand—
I caught the Dripping of a Rock
And bore it in my Hand—
His Mighty Balls—in death were thick—
But searching—I could see
A Vision on the Retina
Of Water—and of me—
'Twas not my blame—who sped too slow—
'Twas not his blame—who died
While I was reaching him—
But 'twas—the fact that He was dead—
A Dying Tiger—moaned For Drink
Emily Dickinson
(1)
Poem topics: death, tiger, water, drink, vision, slow, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about A Dying Tiger—moaned For Drink poem by Emily Dickinson
Best Poems of Emily Dickinson