It Ceased To Hurt Me by Emily Dickinson

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 Cushion 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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