After a brief discussion regarding the prudence of opening a business letter with "Because", my co-worker e-mailed me these four lines by Emily Dickinson:
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
The Poem "Death" was a favorite of hers from college days. I'd never seen it before. If you feel compelled, I've included a link to the entire poem along with some scholarly analysis. Enjoy!
Death
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She is one of my very favorite poets. We share a name, were both born in Massachusetts in December, and some other details which I am forgetting. Anyway, this is one of my favorites:
ReplyDeleteI'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there's a pair of us?
Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!
How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one's name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!
... - To an admiring Blog!
ReplyDeleteI find poetry only slightly more disturbing than art. At least I'm not alone. Check out:
http://thatispriceless.blogspot.com/