It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
I could not feel the Anguish go --
But only knew by looking back --
That something -- had benumbed the Track --
Nor when it altered, I could say,
For I had worn it, every day,
As constant as the Childish frock --
I hung upon the Peg, at night.
But not the Grief -- that nestled close
As needles -- ladies softly press
To Cushions Cheeks --
To keep their place --
Nor what consoled it, I could trace --
Except, whereas 'twas Wilderness --
It's better -- almost Peace --
