'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.