Emily Dickinson

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
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There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--

Because I could not stop for death
He kindly stopped for me
The carriage held but just ourselves
And immortaility.

Because I could not stop for death
He kindly stopped for me
The carriage held but just ourselves
And immortaility.

The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
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The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Is aristocracy.

His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
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His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!

The heart asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
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The heart asks 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 liberty to die.