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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 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- |