Emily Dickinson — Twas warm—at first—like Us 519

'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.