THE CHARIOT - by Emily Dickinson

THE  CHARIOT 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 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.