After Great Pain by Emily Dickenson 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--