Emily Dickinson

I Felt A Funeral, In My Brain

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– And then a Plank in Reason, broke, And I dropped down, and down– And hit a World, at every plunge, And Finished knowing–then–

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