Eight Poems Of Emily Dickinson : 8. The Chariot
Aaron Copland
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 'tis centuries but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.