There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
Then covers the Abyss with Trance —
So Memory can step
Around — across — upon it —
As one within a Swoon —
Goes safely — where an open eye —
Would drop Him — Bone by Bone.
There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
Then covers the Abyss with Trance —
So Memory can step
Around — across — upon it —
As one within a Swoon —
Goes safely — where an open eye —
Would drop Him — Bone by Bone.
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It’s about depression, the trance-like state in which people who are depressed move through life. Stephen Cope(author of Yoga and the Quest for the True Self)describes Dickinson as someone who “wrestled magnificently with depression,” writing poetey to live.