Ashes to ashes, and one by one The names drop out of our prayers; And one hardly smiles at the face in the glass, For who is there left that cares? There's never a night but the longing comes, (For only the wise forget) And the hour when the clock ticks loudest seems The time for a fool's regret. What does it profit to lie awake, Worn with the day's care and cark? What does it profit to sob and sigh And wring one's hands in the dark? Is there never a chance to set things right, Or forget them in all the years? Can we find no place of repentance if We search for it long, with tears? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I WANT TO LIVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE HASTY PUDDING by JOEL BARLOW CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK; 1658 by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER CHRISTMASSE DAY by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE AFTERMATH by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE WIDEST HEARTHSTONE by BERTON BRALEY |