DEATH, of thee do I make my moan, Who hadst my lady away from me, Nor wilt assuage thine enmity Till with her life thou hast mine own; For since that hour my strength has flown. Lo! what wrong was her life to thee, Death? Two we were, and the heart was one; Which now being dead, dead I must be, Or seem alive as lifelessly As in the choir the painted stone, Death! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEATH OF THE DAY by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR JOHN BROWN OF OSAWATOMIE [OCTOBER 16, 1859] by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN THE TABLES TURNED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 87. AL-GHANI by EDWIN ARNOLD ON THE AMOROUS AND PATHETIC STORY OF ARCADIUS AND SEPHA by L. B. |