"Whom the gods love die young." The thought is old; And yet it soothed the sweet Athenian mind. I take it with all pleasure, overbold, Perhaps, yet to its virtue much inclined By an inherent love for what is fair. This is the utter poetry of woe -- That the bright-flashing gods should cure despair By love, and make youth precious here below. I die, being young; and, dying, could become A pagan, with the tender Grecian trust. Let death, the fell anatomy, benumb The hand that writes, and fill my mouth with dust, -- Chant no funeral theme, but, with a choral Hymn, O ye mourners! hail immortal youth auroral! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 3 by CONRAD AIKEN MOTHER (MARGERY CARRUTH, 1896-1981) by HAYDEN CARRUTH A DIM DOORWAY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LET ME NOT LOSES MY DREAM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE TEMPTRESS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON VOLUPTAS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |