Further Poems of Emily Dickinson/After great pain a formal feeling comes—

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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 roundA wooden wayOf ground or air or Ought,Regardless grown,A quartz contentment like a stone.
This is the hour of leadRemembered if outlivedAs freezing persons recollectThe snow—First chill, then stupor, thenThe letting go.
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