In this poem, Dickinson (Emily, the author) is trying to sort out her thoughts of depression and dispari by ruling out the things, she believes, don't correspond to what is happening to her.
It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down -
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.
I know I wasn't dead because I could stand, while all the dead people can't.
I know it wasn't night time because the bells were not tolling, so it must have been noon.
It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Siroccos - crawl -
Nor Fire - for just my marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool -
I know I wasn't frozen because I felt as if my skin was as hot as the wind coming from the desert. But I wasn't burning either because my feet felt hot as if they could keep a church cool.
And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial
Reminded me, of mine -
However, I felt like all of these were happening to me. Everything that I have seen, which usually indicates a burial, reminded me of my own funeral.
As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And ’twas like Midnight, some -
As if I have been striped from everything and showcased like a picture,
And breathing was not possible unless I had the answers. And it was midnight when... (this thought is continued in the following stanza.).
