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.