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 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 16. TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL, MAY 1652 by JOHN MILTON THE SOFTNESS OF SYBARIS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE CHRISTMAS GIFTS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TO TIME by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |