Poem 280

by

Emily Dickinson


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,

The 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--


(1861)



Go Back