Eight Poems Of Emily Dickinson : 3. The World Feels Dusty
Emily Dickenson
The World feels dusty
When We stop to die
We want the Dew then
Honors taste dry
Flags vex a Dying face
But the least fan
Stirred by a friend's Hand
Cools like the Rain
Mine be the Ministry
When thy Thirst comes
Dews of Thyself to fetch
And Holy Balms