Anaesthetic

The pain of separation does not fade;
No, no, it lingers, 'til, in self-defense
The body robs the soul of every sense
And shuts the heart in an eternal shade;
The very means by which the soul is made
Aware of its surroundings is turned hence,
Made subject to some terrible immense
Division, and indeed sent retrograde
So that the heart can feel itself alone
And thereby be, perhaps, left unaware
Of what it lacks, lifting the heavy care
That otherwise would make it only groan.
But even this proves lesser than its task
For pain like this drills through the thickest mask.