No, I'm not afraid of death, (Not very much afraid, that is) Either for others or myself; Can watch them coming from the line On the wheeled silent stretchers And not shrink, But munch my sandwich stoically And make a joke, when "it" has passed. But-the way they wobble!- God! that makes one sick. Dead men should be so still, austere, And beautiful, Not wobbling carrion roped upon a cart … Well, thank God for rum. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MEDITATION ON RHODE ISLAND COAL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT TIPPERARY: 3. AS THE INTERLINEARS MIGHT TAKE IT FROM XENOPHON by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE PEACE: TO HEAVEN ON A BEETLE by ARISTOPHANES THISTLE-DOWN by CLARA DOTY BATES DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: THE SLIGHT AND DEGENERATE NATURE OF MAN by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES TO THE ROYAL ACADEMY by WILLIAM BLAKE LIFE EFFECTUAL by ANNE MILLAY BREMER |