Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
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.
Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 30 Apr 2017 3:05 AM | Viewed: 18591 times
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