Emily Dickinson — The Chariot

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 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 't is centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity