THEY do neither plight nor wed In the city of the dead, In the city where they sleep away the hours; But they lie, while o'er them range Winter-blight and summer change, And a hundred happy whisperings of flowers. No, they neither wed nor plight, And the day is like the night, For their vision is of other kind than ours. They do neither sing nor sigh, In that burgh of By and By Where the streets have grasses growing cool and long; But they rest within their bed, Leaving all their thoughts unsaid, Deeming silence better far than sob or song. No, they neither sigh nor sing, Though the robin be a-wing, Though the leaves of autumn march a million strong. There is only rest and peace In the City of Surcease From the failings and the wailings in the sun, And the wings of the swift years Beat but gently o'er the biers, Making music to the sleepers every one. There is only peace and rest; But to them it seemeth best, For the lie at ease and know that life is done. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FALLEN STAR by GEORGE DARLEY INTOXICATION by EMILY DICKINSON THE BLESSED VIRGIN, COMPARED TO THE AIR WE BREATHE by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE BITER BIT by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE POET by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY A COMPARISON OF THE LIFE OF MAN by RICHARD BARNFIELD |