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 ministered before Him --
There's no Vitality.

Added: Jan 9 2004 | Viewed: 1524 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Emily Dickinson
Poem: 396. There is a Languor of the Life
Volume: Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
Year: Published/Written in 1955
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