WIRASTRUA, wirastrua, woe to me that you are dead! The corpse has spoken from out his bed. "Yesternight my burning brain Throbbed and beat on the strings of pain: Now I rest, all my dreaming's done, In the world behind the sun. Yesterday I toiled full sore, To-day I ride in a coach and four. Yesternight in the streets I lay, To-night with kings, and as good as they." Wirastrua! wirastrua! would I were lying as cold as you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE FOR THE BURIAL OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF THE OLD GREY MARE by MOTHER GOOSE THE MAHOGANY TREE by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY THE SPINNING-WHEEL [SONG] by JOHN FRANCIS WALLER THE WELFORD WEDDING by ELIZABETH FRANCES AMHERST IN UTRUMQUE PARATUS by MATTHEW ARNOLD THERE IS NO DEATH by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |