Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (1830 – 1886) was an American poet. Her works were largely unpublished and unknown during her lifetime.

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,

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Gain –
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 –

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It’s such a little thing to weep –
So short a thing to sigh –
And yet – by Trades – the sizes of these
We men and women die!

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The Heart asks for Pleasure – first
And then – Excuse from Pain –
And then – those little Anodynes
That deaden suffering –

And then – to go to sleep –
And then – if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor
The privilege to die –

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I was the slightest in the House –
I took the smallest Room –
At night, my little Lamp, and Book –
And one Geranium –

So stationed I could catch the Mint
That never ceased to fall –
And just my Basket –
let me think – I’m sure
That this was all –

I never spoke – unless addressed –
And then, ’twas brief and low –
I could not bear to live – aloud –
The Racket shamed me so –

And if I had not been so far –
And any one I knew
Were going – I had often thought
How noteless – I could die –

Source: “Romantic Writings: An Anthology” edited by W.E. Owens and Hamish Johnson. Printed by TJ International, Padstow, Cornwall, UK. “Emily Dickinson – Poems selected by Ted Hughes”. Published by Faber and Faber Limited.