Alas! that while the beautiful and strong, The pious and the wise, the grave and gay, All journey downward by one common way, Bewailed and honoured yet with flowers and song, There must come crowding with that serious throng, Jostling the ranks of that discreet array, Infirm and scullion spirits of decay, The dull, the droll, the random and the wrong. An ape in church, an artificial limb Tacked to a marble god serene and blind -- For such as BRASH, high death was not designed, That canonising rite was not for him; Nor where the Martyr and the Hero trod Should idiot BRASH go hobbling up to God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEAUTY THAT IS NEVER OLD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE MASK by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE INQUEST by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES INDIAN SUMMER by EMILY DICKINSON CARMEN BELLICOSUM by GUY HUMPHREYS MCMASTER PRAIRIE MUSIC by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER CONFLICT AND PEACE by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS |