Emily Dickinson died today, at the age of 55, in Amherst, Massachusetts.
A short life, one can only imagine all the poems wandering through her thoughts, waiting to be captured. And sadly, one can only imagine all the thoughts tossed away when a lot of her writing was discarded upon her death.
But thankfully, so much remains. So much to reflect upon, to wonder about……….
It’s hard to say which I like best…….it depends on the day, the season, what thoughts are wandering through my own mind.
But one I have always had a special fondness for is this one……..
And on this day, in 1886, he stopped for her…………… and led her to Eternity.
Because I could not stop for Death
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 – ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Peace, Shirl