After great pain, a formal feeling comes -
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Toombs -
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
(с) Emily Dickinson