After great pain, a formal feeling comes —
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs —
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?
The Feet, mechanical, go round —
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought —
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like 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 —
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
-
This is simply wonderful... Emily Dickinson was a wonderful american poet.
-
This is totally beautiful
-
I think this is one of the truest poems I ever read
I know exactly what it feels like to get hurt then just not care. -
an expression of exhaustion after a phase of emotionally painful ordeal...
and the misery or sorrow has been persistent for centuries...
second stanza again speaks of the bleakness and lack of vigor or enthusiasm for life... with just remnants of formality...
and third stanza seems like recollection of unpleasant memories... referred as the winter season or snow ... and last line is more of a flashback, of the way, the unpleasant phase gradually crept into life and then it ended
-
i noticed this doesnt show the title number. it is 341
-
-
This poem fits how America is feeling at the moment. Don't you agree?
Adding your comment:
1 - 7 of 7
