I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading − treading − till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through −
And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum −
Kept beating − beating − till 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,
The speaker of the poem perceives the “Heavens” as a “Bell”, making it worthy of melodic tunes and expression. Here, Dickinson condenses the vastness and ultimate spiritual power of “Heaven” into a single instrument, subtly venerating its importance and holiness. 
 At the same time, the speaker becomes an “Ear,” emphasizing its passivity. Dickinson employs a metaphor in which the speaker listens in on the almighty wisdom and judgment of the Heavens and God. When mourning and grieving, many individuals find themselves looking towards their faith, and other non-religious people suddenly turn towards God, hoping to justify death. 
 By claiming the position of an “ear,” the speaker does not show any signs of refusal, ultimately revealing the desperation and overpowering urge to find closure. 

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