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 |