āTwas 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 ā And you dropt, lost, When something broke ā And let you from a Dream ā As if a Goblin with a Gauge ā Kept measuring the Hours ā Until you felt your Second Weigh, helpless, in his Paws ā And not a Sinew ā stirred ā could help, And sense was setting numb ā When God ā remembered ā and the Fiend Let go, then, Overcome ā As if your Sentence stood ā pronounced ā And you were frozen led From Dungeonās luxury of Doubt To Gibbets, and the Dead ā And when the Film had stitched your eyes A Creature gasped āReprieveā! Which Anguish was the utterest ā then ā To perish, or to live? Emily Dickinson , 1862 Sometimes Billy has trouble sleeping.