Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was an important American poet, who was born in Amherst, Massachusetts, 10 December 1830. Emily Dickinson lived an introverted and reclusive life due to She was educated in as strict and puritan environment, spending most of her time in her house.

In her youth Emily studied in Amherst Academy, under the tutelage of scientist and theologian Edward Hitchcock, during Seven years, after that she spends a short time in at Mount Holyoke Female Seminary. During her life she made very few friends, but one of them was the reverend Charles Wadsworth, who influenced much in her poems and thinking.

The first person to realize that she was a talent for poetry was Thomas Higginson, who was a clergyman and writer close to her, who advised her not to publish her works because it went against the literacy conventions of the time. Helen Jackson tried to convince Emily to publish her poems but she refused due to the advices of many people.

Emily died on May 15, 1886 and she now rests in the West Cemetery of Amherst, Hampshire County, Massachusetts. During her life she wrote a large number of poems, which most of them were discovered after her death. Some of the most important are: Success is counted sweetest, A wounded deer leaps highest, Some things that fly there be, When night is almost done and I never hear the word 'escape'.

Emily Dickinson wrote more than 500 poems during her life, which most of them were known many years after her death. Due to her shy and reserved personality, Emily wrote many poems where loneliness and death were the main theme.

“Because I could not stop for death” is definitely one of the most famous. This poem contains six stanzas, each with four lines, where she reveals her calm acceptance of death due to she was a Christian and Bible reader. This poem was first published and edited by two of her friends Mabel Loomis Todd and Thomas Wentworth Higginson, many years after she died, in 1890.

Because I Could Not Stop For Death
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.

Emily Dickinson

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