The destroyer cometh; his footstep is light, He marketh the threshold of sorrow at night; He steals like a thief o'er the fond one's repose, And chills the warm tide from the heart as it flows. His throne is the tomb, and a pestilent breath Walks forth on the night-wind, the herald of death! His couch is the bier, and the dark weeds of woe Are the curtains which shroud joy's deadliest foe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING WIND IN LONDON by KATHERINE MANSFIELD TO HIS COY MISTRESS by ANDREW MARVELL CONSTANTINOPLE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD PSALM 71 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE AT SEA by FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON THE ROSARY by CHARLOTTE A. BRADSHAW THE ADVERTISING MAN'S LOVE SONG by BERTON BRALEY SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 16 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |