Poemsby Emily Dickinson

Trying to Forget

 Bereaved of all, I went abroad,   No less bereaved to be Upon a new peninsula, -   The grave preceded me, 
 Obtained my lodgings ere myself,   And when I sought my bed, The grave it was, reposed upon   The pillow for my head. 
 I waked, to find it first awake,   I rose, - it followed me; I tried to drop it in the crowd,   To lose it in the sea, 
 In cups of artificial drowse   To sleep its shape away, - The grave was finished, but the spade   Remained in memory.