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‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so

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‘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.

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