I felt a Funeral, in my Brain (E. Dickinson)

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—'til it seemed That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated, A Service, like a Drum— Kept beating—beating—'til I thought My mind was going numb— And then I heard them lift a Box And creak across my Soul With those same Boots of Lead, again, Then space—began to toll, As all the Heavens were a Bell, And Being, but an Ear, And I, and Silence, some strange Race, Wrecked, solitary, here— And then a Plank in Reason, broke, And I dropped down, and down— And hit a World, at every plunge, And Finished knowing—then--