No pain that mars the trembling brow, No flutterings of the soul were his; Death, shaken softly from its bough, Dropt downward, and its touch a kiss. Clasped in a cloud of secret prayer, Faint, from the upland path he trod, Sighing, he sank through veils of air, -- Then round him felt the Arms of God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PICTURES FROM APPLEDORE: 1 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE MARSEILLAISE by CLAUDE JOSEPH ROUGET DE LISLE SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 9. WHEN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE WALNUT-TREE OF BOARSTELL: CANTO 2 by WILLIAM BASSE OLD PLEASURES DESERTED by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN GLIMPSES OF ITALY: 5. LIKE PAESTUM'S TEMPLE by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON TO THE AUTHOR OF A SONNET BEGINNING 'SAD IS MY VERSE' by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |