POOR souls, who think that joy is bought With pelf; The bait that captures joy is joy Itself. My joy it came mysteriously At birth; I give it to, not take it from The earth. Have pity on my enemy: Again, And yet again, my triumph gives Him pain. Come, Death, give me life's perfect end; Take me In my sleep, Oh Death, and do not Wake me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SYNCOPATED CAKEWALK by CLARENCE MAJOR LA PALOMA IN LONDON by CLAUDE MCKAY CONTRA MORTEM: THE WOMAN by HAYDEN CARRUTH A PECK OF GOLD by ROBERT FROST DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 2. LOS CIGARILLOS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: DOMESDAY BOOK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |