Public Poetry. Emily Dickenson.

Because I could not stop for Death.

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 toward eternity.