566 br br A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— br I hunted all the Sand— br I caught the Dripping of a Rock br And bore it in my Hand— br br His Mighty Balls—in death were thick— br But searching—I could see br A Vision on the Retina br Of Water—and of me— br br 'Twas not my blame—who sped too slow— br 'Twas not his blame—who died br While I was reaching him— br But 'twas—the fact that He was dead—br br Emily Dickinsonbr br