Author Emily Dickinson There is a pain—so utter—It swallows substance up—Then covers the Abyss with Trance—So Memory can stepAround—across—upon it—As one within a Swoon—Goes safely—where an open eye—Would drop Him—Bone by Bone. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 1 (1 vote) Rate Log in or register to post comments