Classic and Contemporary Poetry
KING DEATH, by ELIZA COOK Poet's Biography First Line: King death has a high and lonely seat Last Line: Than the tyrant king with his skeleton arm. Subject(s): Death; Dead, The | ||||||||
King Death has a high and lonely seat, As other monarchs have, Draped with a pall and winding sheet, Brought from the last-filled grave. It is but of the gray and hollow skulls, Of the cross-bones thick and strong, And nothing lives there that seat to share But the earth-worm trailing along. And King Death sits on his spectral throne, With his footstool made of churchyard stone. King Death! King Death! thy voice is heard In the sinking mariner's scream; It comes ringing out in the sudden shout Of the madman's fevered dream; Now it breathes close in the pestilent air, Till the noonday sun is dim -- Leaving the blot of the leper's spot On the proud man's giant limb; And the sage leaves his book, and the child his play, When thou thinkest it fitting to call them away. King Death has riches greater far Than the merchant's stores unfold; Though he valueth not the diamond star, Nor heapeth up bright gold. But he hath the young and beautiful In his charnel caverns hid; With the brain and the breast that we love the best Shut fast 'neath the coffin lid. And who with their treasures would not part To purchase from death the good man's heart? Low in the mouldering dust he has thrown The dearest and rarest of things -- The patriot hero's laurel crown And the poet's burning strings. But he cannot make the green leaves fade, Nor quench the immortal fire; All else he may chill, but the wreath blooms still, And a halo is round the lyre. For the nobly-won trophy shall never decay, And the songs of the gifted one pass not away. King Death, oh! how thou must chuckle to find The old man over his gold, While he reckons the wealth he must leave benind, With hands all palsied and cold! Some heart will be sad when thou takest the bad, Or sealest the reckless one's eyes; For the tide that has thrown but the weed and the stone, May hide pearls for the diver to prize; But thy work, King Death, shall cause none to grieve For the one who has naught but his gold to leave. King Death! King Death! thou art strangely feared, Yet the wisest cannot tell why; For the woes we have here are sharp as thy spear, And wring many a deeper sigh. The happy and blest may dread thy name, But though terrible thou mayst be, The blighted heart and the brow of shame Will eagerly fly to thee; For the harsh world strikes with a wilder alarm Than the tyrant King with his skeleton arm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND |
|