ONE stab could not fierce Cato's life untie; Only his hand of all that wound did die. Deeper his fingers tear to make a way Open, through which his mighty soul might stray. Fortune made this delay to let us know That Cato's hand more than his sword could do. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LONELY DEATH by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY THE OLD MAN AND JIM by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE LAURELS ARE FELLED by THEODORE FAULLAIN DE BANVILLE CHRISTMAS MORNING by RICHARD BECK A WOMAN'S SONNETS: 5 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT CAELIA: SONNETS: 13 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE MOUNTAIN STORM by MILLARD FILLMORE BUMGARNER WRETTEN BY ME ON THE DEATH OF MY CHILD ROBERT PAYLER by MARY CAREY |