Because I could not stop for Death

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, 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 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

I truly love Emily Dickinson; a wacky half feminist, half doubting religious nut who became a recluse and wrote poetry of love, death, nature and womanhood (all the things that are important of course!!) and I completely fell in love with her. Trust me, if there ever was a poet for every occasion, this woman had it! This one is a bit more morose and serious, but I promise the next one will be demonstrating the wackier side...