Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 27
Chapter 35 of 146 · 1 min read
THE CHARIOT.
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.
XXVIII.
She went as quiet as the dew From a familiar flower. Not like the dew did she return At the accustomed hour!
She dropt as softly as a star From out my summer's eve; Less skilful than Leverrier It's sorer to believe!
XXIX.
RESURGAM.
At last to be identified! At last, the lamps upon thy side, The rest of life to see! Past midnight, past the morning star! Past sunrise! Ah! what leagues there are Between our feet and day!
XXX.
Except to heaven, she is nought; Except for angels, lone; Except to some wide-wandering bee, A flower superfluous blown;
Except for winds, provincial; Except by butterflies, Unnoticed as a single dew That on the acre lies.
The smallest housewife in the grass, Yet take her from the lawn, And somebody has lost the face That made existence home!
XXXI.
Death is a dialogue between The spirit and the dust. "Dissolve," says Death. The Spirit, "Sir, I have another trust."
Death doubts it, argues from the ground. The Spirit turns away, Just laying off, for evidence, An overcoat of clay.
XXXII.
It was too late for man, But early yet for God; Creation impotent to help, But prayer remained our side.
How excellent the heaven, When earth cannot be had; How hospitable, then, the face Of our old neighbor, God!
