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.


emily dickinson