No, I'm not afraid of death, (Not very much afraid, that is) Either for others or myself; Can watch them coming from the line On the wheeled silent stretchers And not shrink, But munch my sandwich stoically And make a joke, when "it" has passed. But-the way they wobble!- God! that makes one sick. Dead men should be so still, austere, And beautiful, Not wobbling carrion roped upon a cart … Well, thank God for rum. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER A JOURNEY by THOMAS HARDY A CHRISTMAS CAROL, SUNG TO THE KING IN THE PRESENCE AT WHITEHALL by ROBERT HERRICK THE BROKEN FIELD by SARA TEASDALE THE ETERNAL GOODNESS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD VERSES, OCCASIONED BY AN AFFECTING INSTANCE OF SUDDEN DEATH by BERNARD BARTON HOW DO I KNOW? by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON SEA BUTTERFLIES by DON BLANDING THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 40. FAREWELL TO JULIET (2) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |