‘Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch, That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony Toyed coolly with the final inch Of your delirious Hem — And you dropt, lost, When something broke — And let you from a Dream — As if a Goblin with a Gauge — Kept measuring the Hours — Until you felt your Second Weigh, helpless, in his Paws — And not a Sinew — stirred — could help, And sense was setting numb — When God — remembered — and the Fiend Let go, then, Overcome — As if your Sentence stood — pronounced — And you were frozen led From Dungeon’s luxury of Doubt To Gibbets, and the Dead — And when the Film had stitched your eyes A Creature gasped “Reprieve”! Which Anguish was the utterest — then — To perish, or to live? Emily Dickinson , 1862 Sometimes Billy has trouble sleeping.