We are afraid that we have not lived. We are not afraid of dying. Toss images to the indifferent morning Amid laughter and crying -- Amid fitful buffetings of strangled hearts While they are dying. Draw tight the words of death shivering On the strictured page -- The cup of Morgan Fay is shattered. Life is a bitter sage, And we are weary infants In a palsied age. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOT SIX DIFFERENCES by MARVIN BELL APRIL'S LAMBS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES NATHAHNI AND SOYAZHE by FRANCES DAVIS ADAMS AT A READING by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH AN ESSAY TOWARDS A CHARACTER OF HIS SACRED MAJESTY KING JAMES II by PHILIP AYRES |