With all our mirth, I doubt if we shall be Like Martha here, in her serenity, When we're her age; who goes from bed to bed, To wash the faces of the newly dead; To close their staring eyes and comb their hair, To cross their hands and change the linen there; Who helps the midwife to give strength and breath To babes, by almost beating them to death With a wet towel; and half drowns them too, Until their tender flesh is black and blue. Not all the revels, Martha, we have been to Can give us, when we're old, a peace like yours -- Due to the corpses you have gone and seen to. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A WATERFOWL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT TELL'S BIRTHPLACE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE LEINSTER by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY THE ARROW AND THE SONG by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE ARTILLERYMAN'S VISION by WALT WHITMAN |