Death

 

by Emily Dickinson

 

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were turned toward eternity.


Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 May 15, 1886) was an American poet. While she was a prolific private poet, fewer than a dozen of her nearly 1,800 poems were published during her lifetime. Many of her poems deal with themes of death and immortality, two recurring topics in letters to her friends.


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