I could never be properly dead, For even alone in my grave, These songs would go on in my head, And May in my veins would rave. No grief or sorrow or pain Could bind me utterly down; I should go shout with the rain, And burst, with June, through the town. No ancient hurt of the stars, That scarred my heart at its birth, Could ever make silent in me, The songs that I sing for the earth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTLEY by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE SPANISH FRIAR: 1-3. LOVE'S DESPAIR by JOHN DRYDEN A CONSECRATION by JOHN MASEFIELD HERE LIES A LADY by JOHN CROWE RANSOM TO ENGLAND (2) by GEORGE HENRY BOKER |