Poem by Emily Elizabeth 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.

1. This Merit Hath the Worst
2. Contrast
3. The Nearest Dream Recedes, Unrealized
4. In Lands I Never Saw, They Say
5. He Put the Belt around My Life

Print

6986 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version