I cried at Pity—not at Pain
Emily Dickinson 1830 (Amherst) – 1886 (Amherst)
I cried at Pity—not at Pain—
I heard a Woman say
"Poor Child"—and something in her voice
Convicted me—of me—
So long I fainted, to myself
It seemed the common way,
And Health, and Laughter, Curious things—
To look at, like a Toy—
To sometimes hear "Rich people" buy
And see the Parcel rolled—
And carried, I supposed—to Heaven,
For children, made of Gold—
But not to touch, or wish for,
Or think of, with a sigh—
And so and so—had been to me,
Had God willed differently.
I wish I knew that Woman's name—
So when she comes this way,
To hold my life, and hold my ears
For fear I hear her say
She's "sorry I am dead"—again—
Just when the Grave and I—
Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep,
Our only Lullaby—
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on May 03, 2023
- 42 sec read
- 108 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | XAXB XAXX CDXD XCBB XAXA XCXC |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 723 |
Words | 137 |
Stanzas | 6 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
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"I cried at Pity—not at Pain" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Mar. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/11736/i-cried-at-pity—not-at-pain>.
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