Because I could not stop for Death: Since then 

– ‘tis Centuries – and yet

Emily Dickinson, 1890
Feels shorter than the Day
Because I could not stop for Death – 
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
He kindly stopped for me – 
Were toward Eternity –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves – 
Death Be Not Proud: William
And Immortality.
Wordsworth, 1633

We slowly drove – He knew no haste Death, be not proud, though some have
called thee 
And I had put away
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 
My labor and my leisure too,
For those whom thou think'st thou dost
For His Civility –  overthrow 

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill

We passed the School, where Children
strove
At Recess – in the Ring – 
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – 
We passed the Setting Sun – 
me. 
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures
be, 
Much pleasure; then from thee much more
must flow, 
And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. 

Or rather – He passed us – 
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and
The Dews drew quivering and chill –  desperate men, 

For only Gossamer, my Gown –  And dost with poison, war, and sickness
dwell, 
My Tippet – only Tulle – 
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as
well 
We paused before a House that seemed And better than thy stroke; why swell'st
A Swelling of the Ground –  thou then? 

The Roof was scarcely visible –  One short sleep past, we wake eternally 

The Cornice – in the Ground –  And death shall be no more; Death, thou
shalt die.