HE passes down the churchyard track On his way to toll the bell; And stops, and looks at the graves around, And notes each finished and greening mound Complacently, As their shaper he, And one who can do it well. And, with a prosperous sense of his doing, Thinks he'll not lack Plenty such work in the long ensuing Futurity. For people will always die, And he will always be nigh To shape their cell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LOVE LETTER by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SANCTUARY by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: LUCINDA MATLOCK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MY MADONNA by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: JANUARY by EDMUND SPENSER THE MAYFLOWERS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |