'Twas Warm—at First—like Us - Poem by Emily Dickinson
'Twas warm—at first—like Us—
Until there crept upon
A Chill—like frost upon a Glass—
Till all the scene—be gone.
The Forehead copied Stone—
The Fingers grew too cold
To ache—and like a Skater's Brook—
The busy eyes—congealed—
It straightened—that was all—
It crowded Cold to Cold—
It multiplied indifference—
As Pride were all it could—
And even when with Cords—
'Twas lowered, like a Weight—
It made no Signal, nor demurred,
But dropped like Adamant.
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Read poems about / on: pride