The World Feels Dusty lyrics
by Emily Dickinson
The World — feels dusty
When We stop to die —
We want the Dew — then —
Honors — taste dry —
Flags — vex a Dying face —
But the least fan
Stirred by a friend's Hand —
Cools — like the Rain —
Mine be the Ministry
When thy Thirst comes —
Dews of Thyself to fetch —
And Holy Balms —