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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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