Poem 280


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--


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