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There is a LANGUOR of the Life
More imminent than Pain -
'Tis Pain's successor - when the Soul
Has suffered all it can - A drowsiness diffuses -
A dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness -
As Mists - obliterate a Crag. The Surgeon does not blanch at pain
His habit is severe -
But tell Him that it ceased to feel -
The Creature lying there - And he will tell you - skill is late -
A Mightier than He -
Has ministerd before Him -
There's no Vitality.
Emily Dickinson
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Hybrid Mode
