Poemsby 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.   Then 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.