Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself

by Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)

Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself
Upon his rare approach —
Go rapid, lest Competing Death
Prevail upon the Coach —
Go timid, should his final eye
Determine thee amiss —
Go boldly — for thou paid'st his price
Redemption — for a Kiss —

Source: Wikisource

More poems by Emily Dickinson

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— …
There is a pain — so utter —

There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
Then covers the Abyss with Trance — …
A charm invests a face

A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld.
The lady dare not lift her veil …
There came a Wind like a Bugle —

There came a Wind like a Bugle —
It quivered through the Grass
And a Green Chill upon the Heat …

All poems by Emily Dickinson →

Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself

More poems by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death —

There is a pain — so utter —

A charm invests a face

There came a Wind like a Bugle —