Such, such is Death: no triumph: no defeat: Only an empty pail, a slate rubbed clean, A merciful putting away of what has been. And this we know: Death is not Life effete, Life crushed, the broken pail. We who have seen So marvellous things know well the end not yet. Victor and vanquished are a-one in death: Coward and brave: friend, foe. Ghosts do not say 'Come, what was your record when you drew breath?' But a big blot has hid each yesterday So poor, so manifestly incomplete. And your bright Promise, withered long and sped, Is touched, stirs, rises, opens and grows sweet And blossoms and is you, when you are dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A TOCCATA OF GALUPPI'S by ROBERT BROWNING LAMENT FOR CULLODEN by ROBERT BURNS GREENNESS by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE SPRING AND FALL: TO A YOUNG CHILD by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS VIRGILS GNAT by EDMUND SPENSER EIGHTEEN SIXTY-ONE by WALT WHITMAN THE CLOUDS: THE OLD EDUCATION by ARISTOPHANES |