This is the end of him, here he lies: The dust in his throat, the worm in his eyes, The mould in his mouth, the turf on his breast; This is the end of him, this is best. He will never lie on his couch awake, Wide-eyed, tearless, till dim daybreak. Never again will he smile and smile When his heart is breaking all the while. He will never stretch out his hands in vain Groping and groping -- never again. Never ask for bread, get a stone instead, Never pretend that the stone is bread; Nor sway and sway 'twixt the false and true, Weighing and noting the long hours through. Never ache and ache with the choked-up sighs; This is the end of him, here he lies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MONK IN THE KITCHEN by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH ON DIGITAL EXTREMITIES by FRANK GELETT BURGESS ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE by JOHN KEATS SONNET: 87 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE MUSIC IN CAMP by JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON SONNET ON MOOR PARK: WRITTEN AT PARIS, MAY 10, 1825 by SAMUEL EGERTON BRYDGES |