WHAT, comrade of a night, No sooner meet than fight? Before the word, the blow? Well, be it so. Yet think not Thou I yield, Lost on a lonely field. Lo! to my fainting breath, My champion, Death! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...KILLED IN ACTION by ISAAC ROSENBERG SAPPHO AND PHAON: 2. THE TEMPLE OF CHASTITY by MARY DARBY ROBINSON TO A THESAURUS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS STATUETTE by DOLORES DOROTHE BOST THE WEDDING FEAST: 5 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THE WATCHERS ON THE ROAD by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT |