After great pain

A formal feeling comes

The nerves sit ceremonious –– like tombs.

The stiff hear questions

Was it He that bore ––

And yesterday –– or centuries before?

The feet mechanical go round ––

A wooden way

Of ground or air or ought.

Regardless grown ––

A quartz contentment lie 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.

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)