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 – Of Ground, or Air, or Ought – A Wooden way 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.