I could never be properly dead, For even alone in my grave, These songs would go on in my head, And May in my veins would rave. No grief or sorrow or pain Could bind me utterly down; I should go shout with the rain, And burst, with June, through the town. No ancient hurt of the stars, That scarred my heart at its birth, Could ever make silent in me, The songs that I sing for the earth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A POST-IMPRESSIONIST SUSURRATION FOR THE FIRST OF NOVEMBER by HAYDEN CARRUTH LOCKED OUT; AS TOLD TO A CHILD by ROBERT FROST THE SACRAL DREAMS OF RAMON FERNANDEZ by JAMES GALVIN THE LEAVES OF THE TREE HIDE THE SUN by DAVID IGNATOW ILLUSIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MERELY STATEMENT by AMY LOWELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN WASSON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |