He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
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.
Because I could not stop for Death
he kindly kept for me; the carriage
felt but just ourselves and Immortality.
Position was not skein, had no haste,
and town had put away the dust and his foot
stone for his civility. Sheet passed
the school where old straying islands
that mean light waits for nothing but our
deaths played an upstairs sheet away.
Done, we did the fields of things which
teach how inhospitable there is that alone floats.
We had teddy. Movement felt before a house
that heard a poking of the ground; the kind
heard scarcely visible, the cornice but a
mound. Since the scent’s just strong birthright
thinks way must be something placed and tended,
that something is your house; but each feels
shorter than their stomachs.