by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)

In falling timbers buried
Language: English 
Available translation(s): FRE GER
In falling timbers buried
There breathed a man.
Outside the spades were plying,
The lungs within.

Could he know they sought him,
Could they know he breathed,
Horrid sand partition,
Neither could be heard.

Never slacked the diggers,
But when spades had done,
Oh reward of anguish,
It was dying then.

Many things are fruitless,
'Tis a baffling earth,
But there is no gratitude
Like the Grace of death.

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Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Last modified: 2016-11-28 16:12:02
Line count: 16
Word count: 69