#280 Emily Dickinson
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I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading − treading − till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through −
And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum −
Kept beating − beating − till I thought
My Mind was going numb −
And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space − began to toll,
As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here −
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down −
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing − then −
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading − treading − till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through −
And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum −
Kept beating − beating − till I thought
My Mind was going numb −
And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space − began to toll,
As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here −
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down −
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing − then −
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