Emily Dickinson - 'Tis not that Dying hurts us so lyrics

335 'Tis not that Dying hurts us so 'Tis Living — hurts us more But Dying — is a different way A Kind behind the Door The Southern Custom — of the Bird That ere the Frosts are due Accepts a better Latitude We — are the Birds — that stay The Shrivers round Farmers' doors For whose reluctant Crumb We stipulate — till pitying Snows Persuade our Feathers Home