SOME grave is known to God, Some green sequestered sod, Wrapped in whose fragrant fold I shall no more grow cold. And God hath Saints who sing, And holy hands which bring Offerings and gifts more meet Than mine, who clasp His feet. And ask to toil no more, But, on the golden shore, To rest, and dream, and be As God's dead men are, free. Yet, since He frees me not, I wait and wonder what Undreamed-of thing God hath, Better to give than death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GOODLY SONG by PAUL VERLAINE LOST ART by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH POEM FOR PICTURE: TO AN OIL PAINTING BY WINSLOW HOMER (DRIFTWOOD) by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. THE FOREST POOL by MATHILDE BLIND THE GODS OF THE EARTH BENEATH by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE MEADOW STREAM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND WHO DIED ON SABBATH MORNING by ELIZABETH BOGART |