Emily Dickinson — Trying To Forget

Bereaved of all, I went abroad,    No less bereaved to be Upon a new peninsula, —    The grave preceded me, Obtained my lodgings ere myself,    And when I sought my bed, The grave it was, reposed upon    The pillow for my head. I waked, to find it first awake,    I rose, — it followed me; I tried to drop it in the crowd,    To lose it in the sea, In cups of artificial drowse    To sleep its shape away, — The grave was finished, but the spade    Remained in memory.