Because I could not stop for death,
He kindly stopped for me,
Even behind my dying breath -
I don't think I shall ever see,
Through our midnights dreary,
A poem as lovely as he -
Collar me teary.
He is much like a summer's day,
And my eyes are nothing like its sun -
When he embraces me in May,
Near the rivers that run.
O Love, Love; wherefore art thou Love?
My crystal dove?
My heart to joy at the same tone -
And all I lov'd - I lov'd alone.