The Sun kept setting — setting — still (poem 692)
by Emily Dickinson

The Sun kept setting — setting — still
No Hue of Afternoon —
Upon the Village I perceived
From House to House ’twas Noon —

The Dusk kept dropping — dropping — still
No Dew upon the Grass —
But only on my Forehead stopped —
And wandered in my Face —

My Feet kept drowsing — drowsing — still
My fingers were awake —
Yet why so little sound — Myself
Unto my Seeming — make?

How well I knew the Light before —
I could see it now —
‘Tis Dying — I am doing — but
I’m not afraid to know —