by Emily Dickinson
519
'Twas warm - at first - like Us -
Until there crept upon
A Chill - like frost upon a Glass -
Till all the scene - be gone.
The Forehead copied Stone -
The Fingers grew too cold
To ache - and like a Skater's Brook -
The busy eyes - congealed -
It straightened - that was all -
It crowded Cold to Cold -
It multiplied indifference -
As Pride were all it could -
And even when with Cords -
'Twas lowered, like a Weight -
It made no Signal, nor demurred,
But dropped like Adamant.
Last updated June 21, 2015