Poemsby Emily Dickinson

Dying

 I heard a fly buzz when I died;   The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air   Between the heaves of storm. 
 The eyes beside had wrung them dry,   And breaths were gathering sure For that last onset, when the king   Be witnessed in his power. 
 I willed my keepsakes, signed away   What portion of me I Could make assignable, - and then   There interposed a fly, 
 With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,   Between the light and me; And then the windows failed, and then   I could not see to see.