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.