Dust thou art, and unto dust, Playfellow, return thou must; Lingering death it is to stay In the prison-house of clay -- Bricks of Egypt, year by year, Walling up a sepulchre. Better far the soul to free From its cold captivity, And with us, thy comrades, go Wheresoe'er we list to blow. Come, for soon again to dust, Playfellow, return thou must. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A POET, WHO WOULD HAVE ME PRAISE CERTAIN BAD POETS, IMITATORS ... by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS OUR SUSSEX DOWNS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES A VALEDICTION: OF THE BOOKE by JOHN DONNE AMORETTI: 34 by EDMUND SPENSER CHORUS OF THE CLOUD-MAIDEN: ANTISTROPHE, FR. THE CLOUDS by ARISTOPHANES |