A Poem on Death

Death by Emily Dickinson

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 grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

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, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.

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About Carl William Brown

I'm Carl William Brown a holistic teacher, webmaster, trader, and a writer of aphorisms and essays. I have written more than 9,000 original quotations and at present I'm working at my only novel, Fort Attack, which is also a wide and open blog project. I have done a lot of other things as well, both in business, educational, sport and social fields and in 1997 I founded the Daimon Club Organization to promote literature, culture and creativity.
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