I SAW Death at the Portal—face to face! I know the look of him— He is most kind. ... One might, I think, go happily with him, But for the dear things One must leave behind! Yes, I have found them dear, the gifts of Life— And yet—so fair, What Life withholds from me! The thing that spells Perfection I have missed, Although I reach To grasp it—yearningly! Childhood was golden—but it passed too soon! A bubble bright That burst in air was Youth; Love was a joy—but it was twin to Pain; And Fame—a rushlight, Flickering ... in truth! I could not ever quite lay hands on Truth, I have not yet seen Beauty— She is veiled. Beyond the thing I do—there drifts a dream That mocks achievement, Tells me I have failed! The perfect gift Life has kept back from me, It has withheld from me The ultimate— But Death? Ah, Death, I dream, may be more kind Now I have seen his face There ... at the Gate! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMEDAY BOOK: JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ECHOES: 7 by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY FOR MY OWN TOMBSTONE by MATTHEW PRIOR SONNET: 20 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE INDIAN SUMMER (2) by JOHN BANISTER TABB LATE AUTUMN by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM HUNTING: EPILOGUE. TO HAVE A FAITHFUL FRIEND by JULIANA BERNERS |