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http://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/
http://www.emilydickinson.org/
Because I could not stop for Death
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 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.
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Comments
How dreary – to be – somebody!
How public – like a frog
- to tell your name – the livelong June
- to an admiring bog!
poor Emily
The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
I can't believe she never left her house. I mean, just think about all she could have written about if she had. Then again, the fact that she never left could be one of the major reasons she had this brilliant talent.
"i am nobody, who are u?" my one of all time favourite poems.