Emily Dickinson: 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 (1830-1886)