swifty@fluke.UUCP (steve swift) (11/10/83)
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-- Emiliy Dickinson c. 1862