The manuscript of Dickinson’s poem beginning “I felt a funeral in my brain,” ca. 1861.

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 Brain 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

Crash - plunge,

And Got through - Finished knowing - then -