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 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 on 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--