WE are alone: the dead who sleeping lie, And I who mow the grass above their head. Since I still move, I say: "The dead—and I," But had I thought of what it is to die, And what to live, I might have simply said, "We dead." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE BUILDING OF SPRINGFIELD by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW (SEPTEMBER 25, 1857) by ROBERT TRAILL SPENCE LOWELL MY MOTHER'S BIBLE by GEORGE POPE MORRIS TO-NIGHT by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON |