Too many things have died around this place Too many things are not buried and proud in terrible death. Silence can only shroud the living. Here she has lifted the face of flesh. Here is life dead without a grace and smirking in the skeleton of a bird. Too many things around this place have heard death eat and cough and light his pipe and pace. Too many things have lived in terrible pride Let us go out and shut and lock the room The skeleton of a bird has clutched the mind the skeleton of a life has wrenched the side. We are the mysteries of the naked tomb we are too many things, the terrible blind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FIRST DANDELION by WALT WHITMAN TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE GARDEN WHERE THERE IS NO WINTER by LOUIS JAMES BLOCK EARTH TO EARTH by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY BEREAVEMENT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: ON MY TWENTY-FOURTH YEAR by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |