Quick, get him into his grave, he was a gambler and a waster, indifferent to pain in others, forty years of it, his wife made ill of it, his children blighted, lives a jumble and a toss. He lived to see one die of it. Rich, brown loam wasted on his coffin. What could grow from it? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FLOWER GUIDANCE by ROBERT FROST ON GOING UNNOTICED by ROBERT FROST TO CARMEN SYLVA (QUEEN OF ROUMANIA) by EMMA LAZARUS CORPORATE ENTITY by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH THE BLIND by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ERASMUS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON HUFFMAN'S PHOTOGRAPH OF THE GRAVES OF THE UNKNOWN AT LITTLE BIGHORN by KAREN SWENSON |