WHERE'S he that died o' Wednesday? What place on earth hath he? A tailor's yard beneath, I wot, Where worms approaching be; For the wight that died o' Wednesday, Just laid the light below, Is dead as the varlet turned to clay A score of years ago. Where's he that died o' Sabba' day? Good Lord, I'd not be he! The best of days is foul enough From this world's fare to flee; And the saint that died o' Sabba' day, With his grave turf yet to grow, Is dead as the sinner brought to pray A hundred years ago. Where's he that died o' yesterday? What better chance hath he To clink the can and toss the pot When this night's junkets be? For the lad that died o' yesterday Is just as dead -- ho! ho! -- As the whoreson knave men laid away A thousand years ago. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DANS LA BOHEME by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH FIRST CYCLE OF LOVE POEMS: 4 by GEORGE BARKER SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 46 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) POSSESSED by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT STATUETTE by DOLORES DOROTHE BOST SHAKE, MULLEARY AND GO-ETHE by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER A TRIOLET by JOSEPHINE BYINGTON THE OLD CAMP COFFEE-POT (WRITTEN FOR EBEN W. MARTIN) by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. |