by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)
I cried at pity, not at pain
Language: English
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.
About the headline (FAQ)
Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Gordon Getty (b. 1933), "I cried at pity, not at pain" [soprano and piano], from The White Election - A Song Cycle for soprano and piano on 32 poems of Emily Dickinson, Part 2 : So We Must Meet Apart, no. 14. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this page: Barbara Miller
This text was added to the website: 2011-01-12
Line count: 24
Word count: 140