alone

Poem: It was not Death, for I stood up

- Emily Dickinson


It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down—
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Sirocos—crawl—
Nor Fire—for just my Marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool—

And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial,
Reminded me, of mine—

As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And ‘twas like Midnight, some—

When everything that ticked—has stopped—
And Space stares all around—
Or Grisly frosts—first Autumn morns,
Repeal the Beating Ground—

But, most, like Chaos—Stopless—cool—
Without a Chance, or Spar—
Or even a Report of Land—
To justify—Despair.
Indexing:

Posts from This Journal by “poetry” Tag

  • Poem: Snow

    - Walter de la Mare No breath of wind, No gleam of sun – Still the white snow Whirls softly down Twig and bough And blade and thorn All in…

  • Poem: Brughel's Winter

    - Walter de la Mare Jagg'd mountain peaks and skies ice-green Wall in the wild, cold scene below. Churches, farms, bare copse, the sea In…

  • Poem: unloves's the heavenless hell and homeless home

    - e.e. cummings unloves's the heavenless hell and homeless home of knowledgeable shadows(quick to seize each nothing which all souless…