After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes

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.

--- Emily Dickinson