It+Was+Not+Death

=It was not death, for I stood up= by Emily Dickinson

It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down. It was not night, for all the bells Put out their tongues for noon.

It was not frost, for on my flesh I felt siroccos crawl, Nor fire, for just my marble feet Could keep a chancel cool.

And yet it tasted like them all, The figures I have seen Set orderly for burial Reminded me of mine,

As if my life were shaven And fitted to a frame And could not breathe without a key, And 'twas like midnight, some,

When everything that ticked has stopped And space stares all around, Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, Repeal the beating ground;

But most like chaos, stopless, cool, Without a chance, or spar, Or even a report of land To justify despair.

