Short Poem 11

I first discovered the poetry of Emily Dickinson doing an American Studies course at University.

Though virtually unknown in her lifetime, she has come to be regarded, along with Walt Whitman (not my cup of tea at all), as one of the two quintessential American poets of the 19th Century. Although she wrote around 1,789 poems, only a handful of them were published during her lifetime, all anonymously. Some may have been published without her knowledge. She wrote short poems with lots of dashes that pack a punch. This is one of the best known. More here.

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 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 and chill -
For only Gossamer, my Gown -
My Tippet - only Tulle -

We paused before a 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 toward Eternity -