Emily Dickinson

Because I could not sTOP for Death,

He kindly1 sTOPped for me;

The carriage held but just ourselves

And Immortality2.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,

And I had put away

My labor3, 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 swelling4 of the ground;

The roof was scarcely visible,

The cornice but a mound5.

Since then 't is centuries; but each

Feels shorter than the day

I first surmised6 the horses' heads

Were toward eternity7.