The Chariot by Emily Dickinson

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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.

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