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.