I’ve dropped my Brain — My Soul is numb —
The Veins that used to run
Stop palsied — ’tis Paralysis
Done perfecter on stone
Vitality is Carved and cool.
My nerve in Marble lies —
A Breathing Woman
Yesterday — Endowed with Paradise.
Not dumb — I had a sort that moved —
A Sense that smote and stirred —
Instincts for Dance — a caper part —
An Aptitude for Bird —
Who wrought Carrara in me
And chiselled all my tune
Were it a Witchcraft — were it Death —
I’ve still a chance to strain
To Being, somewhere — Motion — Breath —
Though Centuries beyond,
And every limit a Decade —
I’ll shiver, satisfied.
(Emily Dickinson)
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