splendid depiction of the premature burial by Edgar Allan Poe
the unendurable oppression of the lungs- the stifling fumes of the damp earth- the clinging to the death garments- the rigid embrace of the narrow house- the blackness of the absolute night- the silence like a sea that overwhelms- the unseen but palpable presence of the conqueror worm- these things, with the thoughts of the air and grass above, with the memory of dear friends who would fly to save us if but informed of our fate, and with consciousness that of this fate they can never informed- that our hopeless portion is that of the real dead---
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