SOME grave is known to God, Some green sequestered sod, Wrapped in whose fragrant fold I shall no more grow cold. And God hath Saints who sing, And holy hands which bring Offerings and gifts more meet Than mine, who clasp His feet. And ask to toil no more, But, on the golden shore, To rest, and dream, and be As God's dead men are, free. Yet, since He frees me not, I wait and wonder what Undreamed-of thing God hath, Better to give than death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 27 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE RIDE-BY-NIGHTS by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE FARM CHILD'S LULLABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR EPITAPH FOR SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, AT ST. PAUL'S WITHOUT A MONUMENT ... by EDWARD HERBERT ODES IV, 7. TO TORQUATUS. DIFFUGERE NIVES by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS LOVE AND TIME by WALTER RALEIGH ITALIAN MUSIC IN DAKOTA (THE SEVENTEENTH - THE FINEST REGIMENTAL BAND) by WALT WHITMAN ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 11. ON LOVE - TO A FRIEND by MARK AKENSIDE |