And all the songs that I might sing -- Madness to risk them so, you say? How is it such a certain thing That I can sing them if I stay? The winds of God are past control, They answer to no human call, And if I lose my living soul, That is -- for me -- the end of all. Better to shout one last great song, Dying myself, to dying men, Than crawl the bitter years along And never sing again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH IN A CHURCH-YARD IN CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA by AMY LOWELL THE WILLING MISTRESS by APHRA BEHN MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME by STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER CATTLE SHOW by CHRISTOPHER MURRAY GRIEVE TO ANTHEA [WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING] by ROBERT HERRICK A MORNING THOUGHT by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL |