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

We paused before 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


  1. Love, love, love Emily. She helped me stay sane while I read Walt Whitman.

  2. Clarification: This was in a literature book, and her poems were near Whitman's (When the Lilacs Last Bloom'd). It took a more eerie view of death.

  3. okay wow i think we have the same literature book. we had to read these in american lit last year.
    twas good.


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