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BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH
EMILY DICKINSON
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 grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.
We paused before house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
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The Belle of Amherst Victorian American poet so alone, depressed & surreal.
Emily was talented & ignored in life. She lived a mostly introverted & reclusive life. A Marlene Dietrich if attention arrived, with melancholy in her lines yet lyric in her words.
Inspiring deep & dark contemplation, Miss Dickinson was a prolific private poet choosing to publish fewer than a dozen of her nearly eighteen hundred poems.
Interesting how life & death has come full circle for Miss Dickinson. With the old adage, 'History Repeats Itself' in Emily's last verse:
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
Fortunately for us her poems have been published through the last two centuries by her close friends & relatives.
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EMILY'S HEADSTONE
Engraved:
* CALLED BACK *
Miss Dickinson was buried
at the West Cemetery,
Amherst, Hampshire County,
Massachusetts, USA.
Luck Is Not Chance, It's Toil; Fortune's Expensive Smile Is Earned!
EMILY DICKINSON
Blessings Filled With Love & Inspiration, Lyndy
© 2007 ~ 2008 Todaysgold Publications ~ All Rights Reserved ~
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