XXVII
The Chariot
Because I could not stop for Death,He kindly stopped for me;The carriage held but just ourselvesAnd Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,And I had put awayMy 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 seemedA swelling of the ground;The roof was scarcely visible,The cornice but a mound.
Since then ‘t is centuries; but eachFeels shorter than the dayI first surmised the horses’ headsWere toward eternity.