User:Anache

Wikipedian from Kansas - since June 1, 2005 [[|right|265px|thumb|I use and recommend Firefox]]

[edit] Poems by Emily Dickinson

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 labour, 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.

A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,--did you not, His notice sudden is.

The grass divides as with a comb, A spotted shaft is seen; And then it closes at your feet And opens further on.

He likes a boggy acre, A floor too cool for corn. Yet when a child, and barefoot, I more than once, at morn,

Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash Unbraiding in the sun,-- When, stooping to secure it, It wrinkled, and was gone.

Several of nature's people I know, and they know me; I feel for them a transport of cordiality;

But never met this fellow, Attended or alone, Without a tighter breathing, And zero at the bone.