OH, let my lord laugh in his halls When he the tale shall tell! But woe to Jarlwell and its walls When I shall laugh as well! And he that laughs the last, lads, Laughs well, laughs well! He's lord of many a burg and farm And mickle thralls and gold, And I am but my own right arm, My dwelling-place the wold. But when we twain meet face to face, He will not laugh so bold. The shame he chuckles as he shows This time he need not tell; I'll give his body to the crows And his black soul to Hell. For he that laughs the last, lads, Laughs well, laughs well! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: PENNIWIT, THE ARTIST by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MOTHER AND POET; TURIN, AFTER THE NEWS FROM GAETA, 1861 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TO DIANEME (1) by ROBERT HERRICK OUR COUNTRY by JULIA WARD HOWE THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER by ALEXANDER POPE |