Poets and Old Age: Emily Dickinson
One of our best poets about growing older and about death was Emily Dickinson. And the best known of all her poems about the subject was this one.
The Chariot
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.
Here’s another less familiar one.
We turn not older with years, but newer every day.
These words they sing
Of hope
Of joy
These words leave me to
Play
Within my mind
Within my heart
Within my newer day
My newest day
Sparkling bright
Washing cares away
My newest day
Born afresh
Born afresh…
Today
Giving me
Once again
The chance to Seek
And pray
Giving me
The chance
To thank
The One who gives this day
Behold!
My newness…
Startling me
Though mirrors are away…
As in my mind
Once again
Life’s magic has its way
Has its way
Comforts me
Walks hand in hand with age
Walking towards that Promised Land…
Where newness wins the day!
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