WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, Oblivion! may thy languid wing Wave gently o'er my dying bed! No band of friends or heirs be there, To weep or wish the coming blow; No maiden, with dishevell'd hair, To feel, or feign, decorous woe. But silent let me sink to earth, With no officious mourners near: I would not mar one hour of mirth, Nor startle friendship with a fear. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power In her who lives and him who dies. 'T were sweet, my Psyche! to the last Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggles past, E'en Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish -- for Beauty still Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And woman's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be my latest hour, Without regret, without a groan; For thousands Death hath ceased to lower, And pain been transient or unknown. 'Ay, but to die, and go,' alas! Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was Ere born to life and living woe! Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, Count o'er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast been, 'T is something better not to be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEFORE THE RAIN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO HIS SON, VINCENT CORBET, ON HIS THIRD BIRTHDAY by RICHARD CORBET PRAISE FOR AN URN; IN MEMORIAM: ERNEST NELSON by HAROLD HART CRANE THE LAMP OF HERO by LOUISE VICTORINE ACKERMANN ANTIMENIDAS by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE |