IF death be final, what is life, with all Its lavish promises, its thwarted aims, Its lost ideals, its dishonored claims, Its uncompleted growth? A prison wall, Whose heartless stones but echo back our call; An epitaph recording but our names; A puppet-stage where joys and griefs and shames Furnish a demon jester's carnival; A plan without a purpose or a form; A footless temple; an unfinished tale. And men like madrepores through calm and storm Toil, die to build a branch of fossil frail, And add from all their dreams, thoughts, acts, belief, A few more inches to a coral-reef. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE KIND MOON by SARA TEASDALE THE PARTY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR UPON A WASP CHILLED WITH COLD by EDWARD TAYLOR THE PILGRIM by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD VALERIAN by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB THE CHRISTENING by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE WELL by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN IN 'CARTHON' by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |