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.