Emily Dickinson

A Dying Tiger - moaned for Drink -

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 —