Quick, get him into his grave, he was a gambler and a waster, indifferent to pain in others, forty years of it, his wife made ill of it, his children blighted, lives a jumble and a toss. He lived to see one die of it. Rich, brown loam wasted on his coffin. What could grow from it? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FROM THE GREATER TESTAMENT (XXII, XXIII, AND XXVI) by FRANCOIS VILLON NIGHT, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE AUTUMN WOODS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT CACOETHES SCRIBENDI by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES ROLL-CALL by NATHANIEL GRAHAM SHEPHERD |