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
Dickinson continues to describe the feeling of grief and how this extreme, heavy weight is placed upon and dragging one down when mourning. Despite the box being lifted, “creak[s]” suggest that it is being scraped or dragged, and the “Boots of Lead,” (which call to mind a funeral march), refer to having to carry this weight of grief. This weight causes the “Space” or separation between parts of oneself.
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