#712

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 strove
At Recess-- in the Ring--
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain--
We passed the Setting Sun--

Or rather-- He passed Us--
The Dews drew Quivering and chill--
For only Gossamer, my Gown--
My Tippet-- only Tulle--

We paused before a House that seemed
A Sweling of the Ground--
The Roof was scarcely visible--
The Cornice-- in the Ground--

Since then-- ‘tis Centuries-- and yet
Feels shortert than the Day
I first surmised the Horses Heads
Were toward Eternity--

c.1863 1890

Emily Dickinson