Woe is me! an old man said Stretched upon his dying bed: Woe is me! for life is short; And one hour cannot be bought With great treasure or long thought. What have all my days been worth? Weary labour without gain, Pleasure ending in much pain, Planting that brought forth no fruit, Tree of life struck at the root, Were my portion from my birth: But my cold heart sickeneth Shrinking from the touch of death; And I fain would have again Toil and weariness and pain For a short time more on earth. Yet the time was troublesome, And the days lagged slowly on; Surely it is better so: And I cannot grieve to go Hence. How fast the shadows come: -- Light and darkness both grow wan: -- Is that fire? it is not heat. Cover up my face and feet; Stand back; do not speak to me: I would think how it will be When the sun is blotted from My existence, and the worm Dwells with me as friend with friend For a certain measured term. But his term will have an end: Then I shall be quite alone, Quite alone without a sound; For no wind beneath the ground Can come jarring bone with bone. Without eyes I shall behold Darkness, and shall feel the cold Without nerves, or brain, or flesh; -- Oh sweet air that blowest fresh; Oh sweet stars that glimmer through The dim casement; -- I shall soon Have a sod instead of you. Draw the curtains, while I wake Who shall sleep; and let me lie In the blackness, till I die; For I cannot bear to take My last look of the clear moon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A TREE FALLEN ACROSS THE ROAD (TO HEAR US TALK) by ROBERT FROST THE COMET AT YELL'HAM by THOMAS HARDY AMOR MUNDI by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI WINTER: MY SECRET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI LILIES: 3 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 3. BEAUTY UNLOOKED FOR by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) ON THE MARRIAGE OF A BEAUTEOUS YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN WITH AN ANCIENT MAN by FRANCIS BEAUMONT |