That some day Death who has us all for jest Shall hide me in the dark and voiceless mould, And him whose living hand has mine in hold, Where loving comes not nor the looks that rest, Shall make us nought where we are known the best, Forgotten things that leave their track untold As in the August night the sky's dropped gold-- This seems no strangeness, but Death's natural hest. But looking on the dawn that is her face To know she too is Death's seems mis-belief; She should not find decay, but, as the sun Moves mightier from the veil that hides his place, Keep ceaseless radiance. Life is Death begun: But Death and her! That's strangeness passing grief. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO FARGO: SELLING THE HOUSE by KAREN SWENSON THE METROPOLITAN TOWER by SARA TEASDALE THE BAY FIGHT by HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL THE BATTLE-FIELD by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT LOUISA MAY ALCOTT by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: JUNE by EDMUND SPENSER |