Death stalks on velvet, catlike feet, Invisible, his sable shroud Wrapped tight, lest seeing, we entreat For mercy. Well he knows our proud Demeanor and our taunts of him Are but a screen for abject fear, A farce we play until his grim Reality is close,—so near We feel his breath, and groping, meet His out-stretched hand. Ah, then we know The cup of Life is very sweet, Nor empty yet, though we must go— Our thirst unslaked. We drop our mask Of arrogance to beg, implore— In stark humility we ask A deeper drink from Life before Death leads us out, and shuts the door. But Death, immutable, holds fast Our hands. He takes us firmly past The threshold, dark and overcast With shadows that we do not dread So greatly now—since we are dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR LORD AND OUR LADY by HILAIRE BELLOC CAROL: NEW STYLE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE FLOWER BOAT by ROBERT FROST TO A FRIEND I CAN'T FIND by JAMES GALVIN TO THE MEMORY OF INEZ MILHOLLAND by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DE LITTLE PICKANINNY'S GONE TO SLEEP by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |