Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
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 played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
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; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- I'M "Wife"&Mdash;I'Ve Finished That
- The Soul Has Bandaged Moments
- Light Is Sufficient To Itself
- The Definition Of Beauty Is
- To Be Alive—is Power