Emily Dickinson... my lady

Oh the things that I could say about my dear friend Emily...  She brings me back all the way to my beginnings with writing.  I love this lady.  A close friend of mine's mom brought us to Emily's house when we were somewhere around ten years old.  Well, I found that her writing was inspiring and truly touched my heart and wanted to do the same.  I understand that with all things, practice makes perfect but I wanted to share with you a poem that really sparked the interest:

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.

It was not frost, for on my flesh
I felt siroccos crawl,
Nor fire, for just my marble feet
Could keep a chancel cool.

And yet it tasted like them all;
The figures I have seen
Set orderly, for burial,
Reminded me of mine,

As if my life were shaven
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key;
And I was like midnight, some,

When everything that ticked has stopped,
And space stares, all around,
Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns,
Repeal the beating ground.

But most like chaos,--stopless, cool,
Without a chance or spar,--
Or even a report of land 

To justify despair.