Träumerei Emily Dickinson

In this dream that dogs me I am part
Of a silent crowd walking under a wall
Leaving a football match, perhaps, or a pit
All moving the same way. After a while
A second wall closes on our right
Pressing us tighter. We are now shut in
Like pigs down a concrete passage. When I lift
My head, I see the walls have killed the sun
And light is cold. Now a giant whitewashed D
Comes on the second wall, but much too high
For them to recognise: I await the E
Watch it approach and pass. By now
We have ceased walking and travel
Like water through sewers, steeply, despite
The tread that goes on ringing like an anvil
Under the striding A. I crook
My arm to shield my face, for we must pass
Beneath the huge, decapitated cross
White on the wall, the T, and I cannot halt
The tread, the beat of it, it is my own heart
The walls of my room rise, it is still night
I have woken again before the word was spelt