'After great pain, a formal feeling comes —' (#341) by Emily Dickinson

341

Emily Dickinson

After great pain, a formal feeling comes — The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs — The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore, And Yesterday, or Centuries before? The Feet, mechanical, go round — Of Ground, or Air, or Ought — A Wooden way Regardless grown A Quartz contentment, like a stone — This is the Hour of Lead — Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow — First — Chill — then Stupor — then the letting go —


Back to the index > Poems by Emily Dickinson Profile of the author > American icon/“Belle of Amherst” Emily Dickinson