Relay-Version: version B 2.10 5/3/83; site utzoo.UUCP
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Path: utzoo!linus!decvax!microsoft!fluke!swifty
From: swifty@fluke.UUCP (steve swift)
Newsgroups: net.poems
Subject: Emily Dickinson poem
Message-ID: <411@vax1.fluke.UUCP>
Date: Wed, 9-Nov-83 20:28:11 EST
Article-I.D.: vax1.411
Posted: Wed Nov  9 20:28:11 1983
Date-Received: Sat, 12-Nov-83 08:00:53 EST
Organization: John Fluke Mfg. Co., Everett, Wash
Lines: 20


	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--
	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--


	Emiliy Dickinson
	c. 1862