Her Passing

Because I could not stop for Death

~by 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, be 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.

Some people are so afraid do die
that they never begin to live.
~Henry Van Dyke

It is foolish to pretend that one is fully
recovered from a disappointed passion.
Such wounds always leave a scar.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Every man dies, but
not every man really lives.
~Braveheart