Because I could not stop for Love,
She kindly stopped for me.
And I collapsed into her arms,
Cured then of being free.

In a golden carriage far we drove
Off cliffs and over rises.
Each time I felt sure that I'd died
But Love never lacks surprises.

And we passed Death along the road,
I waved but he would not reply-
I pounded on the windows gold
But he mutely passed me by.

For Love sat not with me inside
But whipped the horses viciously.
I asked her why and she replied,
"Love means no company."

We passed a church and, out behind,
A graveyard glowing in the dusk,
Two lovers' silhouettes defined
Beside a tombstone, clasped in lust.

We passed a darkened house and there
A lanky boy threw pinging pebbles.
And as the light when on, the air
Was filled with midnight funeral bells.

We passed a first kiss, slow and sweet,
Two schoolgirls shamed but still adoring,
And every time their lips would meet
A raven hoarsely tried to sing.

We passed a man and wife's "I do."
And peering through the stained glass window
Pallbearers paused their work to see
The other face of sorrow.

One thought gloats over all I see,
"When all is said and done,"
I muse in silent reverie,
"Love leaves you quite alone."

Because I could not stop for Love,
She kindly stopped for me.
And I will die my deathless death
For all eternity.

712

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 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—

524

Departed—to the Judgment—
A Mighty Afternoon—
Great Clouds—like Ushers—learning—
Creation—looking on—

The Flesh—Surrendered—Cancelled—
The Bodiless—begun—
Two Worlds—like Audiences—disperse—
And leave the Soul—alone—

1308

The Day she goes
Or Day she stays
Are equally supreme—
Existence has a stated width
Departed, or at Home—

1520

The stem of a departed Flower
Has still a silent rank.
The Bearer from an Emerald Court
Of a Despatch of Pink.

254

“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

She walks in beauty, like the night
     Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
     Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
     Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
     Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
     Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
     How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
     So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
     But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
     A heart whose love is innocent!

449

I died for Beauty—but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room—

He questioned softly “Why I failed”?
“For Beauty”, I replied—
“And I—for Truth—Themself are One—
We Brethren, are”, He said—

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night—
We talked between the Rooms—
Until the Moss had reached our lips—
And covered up—our names—

XLIII

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.