Death, tho I see him not, is near And grudges me my eightieth year. Now, I would give him all these last For one that fifty have run past. Ah! he strikes all things, all alike, But bargains: those he will not strike. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 19. TO AN ATHLETE DYING YOUNG by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN SONNET by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI SONNET: 9. TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY by JOHN MILTON SONNET: 33 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE WALT WHITMAN'S CAUTION by WALT WHITMAN THREE SONNETS WRITTEN IN MID-CHANNEL: 1 by ALFRED AUSTIN SONNETS FOR NEW YORK CITY: 1. NEW YORK AT SUNRISE by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |