‘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.