31 Nights of Halloween: I could not stop for Death

The poem known as "Because I Could Not Stop for Death" or "The Chariot" is considered by many critics and linguists as one of the greatest works ever written in the English language. By Emily Dickinson, it was found among her papers after her death and subsequently edited and published (along with hundreds of other unpublished poems Dickinson penned) in a three-volume collection.

The image above features the first stanza of "Because I Could Not Stop for Death". I suspect that most of you reading these words are familiar with this very famous poem, but if you're not--or if you want to read it again--you can find it in its entirety below. In fact, I am bringing you both versions of the poem--the one that Dickinson left behind and the version published by her friends.

UNTITLED

(commonly known as "Because I Could Not Stop for Death")

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 —

THE CHARIOT
(first published version, edited by T.W. Higginson and Mabel Loomis)
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 played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.