AND she is gone, whom, dream or truth, You lived for in this wreck of youth, And on your brow sits age, Who's quickly won his siege. My friend, you will not wish a word Of striven help in this worst gird Of fortune as she gets From us our race's debts. I see you with this subtlest blow Like a stunned man softly go; Then you, love-baffled boy, Smile with a mournful joy. Thereat I read, you plainly know The time draws near when the fierce foe Shall your poor body tear And mix with mud and air. Your smile is borne in that foredoom, Beaten, you see your victory bloom, And fortune cheats her end, And death draws nigh, a friend. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH: FOR MY GRANDMOTHER by COUNTEE CULLEN FABLE: THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL by RALPH WALDO EMERSON SPRING QUIET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI PANEGYRIC by ABU BAKR MUHUMMAD THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS by JAMES BEATTIE SILVIO'S COMPLAINT: A SONG, TO A FINE SCOTCH TUNE by APHRA BEHN PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE: GERARD DE LAIRESSE by ROBERT BROWNING |