Breathing the thin breath through our nostrils, we Live, and a little space the sunlight see-- Even all that live -- each being an instrument To which the generous air its life has lent. If with the hand one quench our draught of breath, He sends the stark soul shuddering down to death. We that are nothing on our pride are fed, Seeing, but for a little air, we are as dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOTHER'S HEART by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON RETURNED FROM THE WAR by HENRY ABBEY ADVICE TO A BLUE-BIRD by MAXWELL BODENHEIM CARCASSONNE (SUGGESTED BY LORD DUNSANY'S STORY) by BERTON BRALEY CAELIA: SONNETS: 6 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) SAINT SEBASTIAN by VALERY YAKOVLEVICH BRYUSOV |