Too many things have died around this place Too many things are not buried and proud in terrible death. Silence can only shroud the living. Here she has lifted the face of flesh. Here is life dead without a grace and smirking in the skeleton of a bird. Too many things around this place have heard death eat and cough and light his pipe and pace. Too many things have lived in terrible pride Let us go out and shut and lock the room The skeleton of a bird has clutched the mind the skeleton of a life has wrenched the side. We are the mysteries of the naked tomb we are too many things, the terrible blind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LETTER TO JOSEPH WARREN by ROBERT FROST THALATTA! THALATTA!; CRY OF THE TEN THOUSAND by JOSEPH BROWNLEE BROWN A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 18 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN IN THIS AGE OF HARD TRYING, NONCHALANCE IS GOOD AND by MARIANNE MOORE SONNET: 2 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |