After great pain, a formal feeling comes by Emily Dickinson

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 –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
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 –

More from Emily Dickinson:

• Success is counted sweetest
• Surgeons must be very careful
• Tell all the truth but tell it slant
• There is no Frigate like a Book
• There’s a certain Slant of light
• They shut me up in Prose