I am afraid to think about my death, When it shall be, and whether in great pain I shall rise up and fight the air for breath Or calmly wait the bursting of my brain. I am no coward who could seek in fear A folk-lore solace or sweet Indian tales: I know dead men are deaf and cannot hear The singing of a thousand nightingales. I know dead men are blind and cannot see The friend that shuts in horror their big eyes, And they are witless -- O, I'd rather be A living mouse than dead as a man dies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COMPANIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A PRAYER IN SPRING by ROBERT FROST TWO FUSILIERS by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES YOU ON THE TOWER by THOMAS HARDY HIS GRANGE, OR PRIVATE WEALTH by ROBERT HERRICK JEANIE MORRISON by WILLIAM MOTHERWELL TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY [IN HER MOTHER'S ARMS] by AMBROSE PHILIPS |