NO, I am not, as others are, Child of the angels, with a wreath Of planets or of any star. My father's dead, and lies beneath The churchyard stone: God rest his breath! I know that my poor old mother (And she too knows) must come to death, And that her son must follow her. I know that rich and poor and all, Foolish and wise, and priest and lay, Mean folk and noble, great and small, High and low, fair and foul, and they That wore rich clothing on the way, Being of whatever stock or stem, And are coiffed newly every day, Death shall take every one of them. Paris and Helen are both dead. Whoever dies, dies with much pain; For when his wind and breath are sped His gall breaks on his heart, and then He sweats, God knows that sweat of men! Then shall he pray against his doom Child, brother, sister, all in vain: None will be surety in his room. Death makes him tremble and turn pale, His veins stretch and his nose fall in, His flesh grow moist and his neck swell, Joints and nerves lengthen and wax thin; Body of woman, that hath been Soft, tender, precious, smooth and even, Must thou be spoiled in bone and skin? Yes, or else go alive to heaven. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AMERICA (1) by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE VISION OF JUDGEMENT by GEORGE GORDON BYRON WRITTEN IN NORTHAMPTON COUNTY ASYLUM by JOHN CLARE HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY: 6. YEUX GLAUQUES by EZRA POUND ONE SHORT HOUR by RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH BARBARA FRIETCHIE [SEPTEMBER 13, 1862] by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |