The ports of death are sins; of life, good deeds: Through which, our merit leads us to our meeds. How wilful blind is he then, that would stray, And hath it, in his powers, to make his way! This world death's region is, the other life's: And here, it should be one of our first strifes, So to front death, as men might judge us past it. For good men but see death, the wicked taste it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LATE SINGER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS DANSE RUSSE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS SUMMER NIGHT by KENNETH SLADE ALLING MAGUS MUIR by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN RIDDLE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE POET'S HOUR by FRANCIS CARO |