Death, what hast thou to do with one for whom Time is not lord, but servant? What least part Of all the fire that fed his living heart, Of all the light more keen than sundawn's bloom That lit and led his spirit, strong as doom And bright as hope, can aught thy breath may dart Quench? Nay, thou knowest he knew thee what thou art, A shadow born of terror's barren womb, That brings not forth save shadows. What art thou, To dream, albeit thou breathe upon his brow, That power on him is given thee, -- that thy breath Can make him less than love acclaims him now, And hears all time sound back the word it saith? What part hast thou then in his glory, Death? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VANISHING RED by ROBERT FROST THE PALM TREE by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE NEW COLOSSUS by EMMA LAZARUS THE MULBERRY GARDEN: CHILD AND MAIDEN by CHARLES SEDLEY A REMEMBERED FACE by EDMUND JOHN ARMSTRONG SONNET: 2 by RICHARD BARNFIELD PSALM 113 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE MAPLE TREE OVER THE WAY by LEVI BISHOP THE WARTONS AND OTHER EARLY ROMANTIC LANDSCAPE-POETS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |