POOR souls, who think that joy is bought With pelf; The bait that captures joy is joy Itself. My joy it came mysteriously At birth; I give it to, not take it from The earth. Have pity on my enemy: Again, And yet again, my triumph gives Him pain. Come, Death, give me life's perfect end; Take me In my sleep, Oh Death, and do not Wake me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW RENASCENCE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE COSMIC TRAIL by EDWIN M. ABBOTT THE CLUE by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES THE PHILOSOPHER AND HIS MISTRESS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES A VERMONT CHICKEN BUYER by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY TO THE READER OF MASTER WILLIAM D'AVENANT'S PLAY, 'THE WITS' by THOMAS CAREW TO WILL D'AVENANT, MY FRIEND, UPON HIS POEM, 'MADAGASCAR' by THOMAS CAREW |