Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, RESERVES, by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE



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RESERVES, by            
First Line: As the spark flares red in the ember
Last Line: Oh, let me swoon in death.
Subject(s): Death; Love; Dead, The


AS the spark flares red in the ember
Before the flame has fled,
So the leaves in late September
Flash fire ere they are dead;
Earth spurns the thought of sighing,
But shouts through all her nerves
And in the hour of dying
Summons her rich reserves.

Thus may it be when weakly
Upon my bed I lie,
I would not leave it meekly
As babe or bird might die,
But telling love's old story
Fast with my falling breath,
In rich reserves of glory
Oh, let me swoon in death.





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