THROUGH every hour man lives on earth, his grave Is there, denied. To every Hour his life is given—to save, His feet, to guide Clear of the death that wanders at his side. Life took your years so innocent and fleet, And kept them his; For ever empty of a thing so sweet One small grave is. Time to his courses held your childish feet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ESSAY ON STONE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SACHEM OF THE CLOUDS (A THANKSGIVING LEGEND) by ROBERT FROST WHAT WE SAID THE LIGHT SAID by JAMES GALVIN REPULSE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE COLOR SERGEANT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON MARTHA WASHINGTON by SIDNEY LANIER STREET CRIES: 6. TO RICHARD WAGNER by SIDNEY LANIER THE SLAVE TRADE: VIEW FROM THE MIDDLE PASSAGE by CLARENCE MAJOR |