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

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

Emily Dickinson

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was an American poet. more…

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