#emilydickson

One need not be a House -

The brain has Corridors - surpassing

Material Place -

Ourself behinf ourself, concealed -

Should startle most -

Assassin hid in our appartement

Be Horror's least.

Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me. The carriage just held by ourselves and immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste. And I had to 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 on the ground. The roof was scarcely visible, the cornice in the ground.