His 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 stove
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 Comice--in the Ground--
Since then--'tis Centuries-- and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses Heads
Were toward Eternity--
[The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Shorter 6th Edition]
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