Emily Dickinson, whose 192nd birthday is this coming Saturday, Dec. 10, completed the poem below in five quatrains — at least as handed down last Thursday by the people at the Emily Dickinson Museum in Amherst, Massachusetts. At some date in the future, it may appear in this blog that way.* — MCM
– – –
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading – treading – till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through –
And when they were all seated,
A Service, like a Drum –
Kept beating – beating – till I thought
My mind was going numb –
And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
That Sense was breaking through –
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading – treading – till it seemed
Then Space – began to toll,
As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here –