THOU arrant robber, Death! Couldst thou not find Some lesser one than he To rob of breath, -- Some poorer mind Thy prey to be? His mind was like the sky, -- As pure and free; His heart was broad and open As the sea. His soul shone purely through his face, And Love made him her dwelling place. Not less the scholar than the friend, Not less a friend than man; The manly life did shorter end Because so broad it ran. Weep not for him, unhappy Muse! His merits found a grander use Some other-where. God wisely sees The place that needs his qualities. Weep not for him, for when Death lowers O'er youth's ambrosia-scented bowers He only plucks the choicest flowers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 20. A FAREWELL by PHILIP SIDNEY THE BLUET by W. I. LINCOLN ADAMS CASTLES by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH DEMOCRITUS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES FACES by STANTON ARTHUR COBLENTZ SANCTI DOMINICI PALLIUM; A DIALOGUE BETWEEN POET AND FRIEND by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE LAST CUP OF CANARY; SIR HARRY LOVELOCK, 1645 by HELEN GRAY CONE |