Poemsby Emily Dickinson

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 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.