Hurricane on the Bayou

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 Freeing persons, recollect the Snow-

First-Chill-then Stupor-then letting go-

ca. 1862 Emily Dickinson