Quick, get him into his grave, he was a gambler and a waster, indifferent to pain in others, forty years of it, his wife made ill of it, his children blighted, lives a jumble and a toss. He lived to see one die of it. Rich, brown loam wasted on his coffin. What could grow from it? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PUTTIN' THE BABY AWAY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR NOBODY KNOWS BUT MOTHER by MARY MORRISON IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 28 by ALFRED TENNYSON GLENDEN'S DREAM by EMILY JANE BRONTE TO MR. RENTON, BERWICK by ROBERT BURNS TWO WEDDED HEARTS; FRAGMENT: 2 by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TO JOHN JOHNSON, ON HIS PRESENTING AN ANTIQUE BUST OF HOMER by WILLIAM COWPER |