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(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

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Death Leaves Us homesick, Who Behind

Death leaves Us homesick, who behind,
Except that it is gone
Are ignorant of its Concern
As if it were not born.

Through all their former Places, we
Like Individuals go
Who something lost, the seeking for
Is all that's left them, now—

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003
Edited: Friday, November 04, 2011


Read poems about / on: lost, death

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Comments about this poem (A Burdock—clawed my Gown by Emily Dickinson )

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  • Macanthony Chijioke Nwatu (11/4/2013 1:59:00 PM)

    That is the effect of death.

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  • Savita Tyagi (11/4/2013 7:05:00 AM)

    Reading Emily's poetry is so time like playing fill in the blanks. You know what sentence would mean, just need to find right words to connect. Not fond of cross word puzzles yet love her style and poems.

  • Pranab K Chakraborty (11/4/2012 11:17:00 PM)

    who behind,
    Except that it is gone...

    Just for such enlightened refraction of wisdom, we simply move fanatically encircling the poetry. Beautiful utterance, so lucid but so much penetrative. Fantastic, can't forget as we can never forget Elliot's...Who is the third beside you... just this just this........................................Pranab k c

  • Pranab K Chakraborty (11/4/2012 11:14:00 PM)

    who behind,
    Except that it is gone...

    Just for such enlightened refraction of wisdom, we simply move fanatically encircling the poetry. Beautiful utterance, so lucid but so much penetrative. Fantastic, can't forget as we can never forget Elliot's...Who is the third beside you... just this just this........................................Pranab k c

  • Leonardo Martinez (11/4/2012 9:57:00 PM)

    Now- Get in line... The End Very deep!

  • Kevin Patrick (11/4/2012 7:21:00 PM)

    She's expressing death on a multitude of levels I think, the first line is about loss while the next once deal with people who do not deal with death as if the consequences of someone loss is not their concern, in the end death makes us all companions of life, and if we are not born to deaths hold eventually we will.

  • Paul Brookes (11/4/2012 2:11:00 PM)

    Again another stange yet evocative poem from the pen of Emily Dickenson painting with words deaths unconcern for the living. And yet again Mr Straw gives us a lecture just to show how clever he is without telling us how this poem makes him feel or not.

  • Mesam Sky (1/3/2012 8:59:00 PM)

    I love how emily paints death as a uncaring being. He strips from us our cherished companions. We then are left with the only thing he could not take, our memories.

  • Mesam Sky (1/3/2012 8:53:00 PM)

    I love how emily makes death an actual uncaring being. He strips from us our cherished companions. We are left with the only thing death could not destroy; our memories.

  • Juan Olivarez (11/4/2011 1:14:00 PM)

    Who can understand our Resident Evil? First he calls Emily insane and then he praises her. Too much for me.

Read all 14 comments »

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