It ceased to hurt me, though so slow

It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
I could not feel the Anguish go—
But only knew by looking back—
That something—had benumbed the Track—

Nor when it altered, I could say,
For I had worn it, every day,
As constant as the Childish frock—
I hung upon the Peg, at night.

But not the Grief—that nestled close
As needles—ladies softly press
To Cushions Cheeks—
To keep their place—

Nor what consoled it, I could trace—
Except, whereas 'twas Wilderness—
It's better—almost Peace—

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Emily Dickinson

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was an American poet. more…

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"It ceased to hurt me, though so slow by Emily Dickinson" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 21 Jan. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/11880>.

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