Poem 712

by

Emily Dickinson


Because I could not stop for Death--

He kindly stopped for me--

The Carriage held 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 drew 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--in the Ground--


Since then--'tis Centuries--and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses' Heads

Were toward Eternity--


(1863)



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