WHY should I fear the hour of going? I'll venture forth, like some good sport, upon the silent tide that's flowing to an unknown, uncharted port. The world jogged on before my coming, as it will jog when I am dead, the spheres will on their course go humming, the stars will glitter overhead. Man fears his passing, but he'd ortn't; the vine that to yon trellis clings is just as valued and important, in old Dame Nature's scheme of things. Am I more craven than the creeper that shades the doorway of my coop? Shall I be coward, doubter, weeper, when these old vines don't care a whoop? The roses do not fear the weather that puts the finis to their bloom; they scent the summer air together, and un- protesting meet their doom. Have I less courage than the roses, shall I forsake my cheerful grin, when some old sawbones grim discloses the solemn fact that I'm all in? The lovely roses and the lilies, the boys and damsels all must go; it's natural; why have the willies? It's no excuse for fear or woe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A FLOWER FROM THE FIELD OF GRUTLI by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER by JOHN MILTON IN THE FOREST by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS RID OF HIS ENGINE by ALEXANDER ANDERSON MISTS by WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG |