And Mourners to and fro

Kept treading -- treading -- till it seemed

That Sense was breaking through --

And when they all were 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,

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 --

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,

And I dropped down, and down --

And hit a World, at every plunge,

And Finished knowing -- then --

-Emily Dickinson