Poems that you love

[rowens]

Emily Dickinson poem



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 –

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I wanted to ask a question, due to the word Lead in this poem. I've noticed that many British people use the word Lead in place of the word Led. I've never taken the time to see if that is a thing or a typo. Actually I have, but I don't trust the source of the information. Maybe I will look into that again, now.

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Also, while I'm on the subject, I think that there is a difference between a typo and a conscious error. By conscious error, I mean: to think something is correct when it's not.

Enjoy the poem.

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My favorite Emily Dickinson poem seems to've, for a long year, been this one:

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space - began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race,
Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -