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Friday, June 15, 2012

712 BY EMILSON DICKINSON(1830-1886)

                                            Because I could not stop for the 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 the 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 & chill-
                                             For only Gossamer, my Gown -
                                             My tippet - only Tulle-


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


                                              Since then- 'tis Centuries- and yet  
                                              Feels shorter than the Day-
                                              I first surmised the Horses' Heads- 
                                             Were towards Eternity-
                                                
                                               
                 
                                             

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