MEDITATING SELF-DESTRUCTION Sweet brother-soul! I may not tarry here; The grave is made for me - if joy had been But rarely visitant or dimly seen, I would not thus have call'd the distance near, Or summon'd for my peace this early bier: But happiness long-while hath kept aloof, An alien to my heart, which was not proof Against the lacking of a thing so dear: The hour is drawing nigh, when this wild heart Shall be the thrall of worms, and know it not, As calm as peace can be. No pulse or start Of reviviscence, till the life hath got Its flow again, which had but ebb'd in part: But never more to feel the sinner's earthly lot! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROSE AND THE BEE by SARA TEASDALE THE HEART OF THE TREE by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER ITALY SWEET TOO! by JOHN KEATS THE FACTORY; 'TIS AN ACCURSED THING! by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON DEEDS OF VALOR AT SANTIAGO by CLINTON SCOLLARD IDYLLS OF THE KING: THE HOLY GRAIL by ALFRED TENNYSON PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 94. AL-HADI by EDWIN ARNOLD |