WAKE all the dead! what ho! what ho! How soundly they sleep whose pillows lie low They mind not poor lovers who walk above On the decks of the world in storms of love. No whisper now or glance can pass Through wickets or through panes of glass; For our windows and doors are shut and barr'd. Lie close in the church, and in the churchyard. In ev'ry grave make room, make room! The world's at an end, and we come, we come. The state is now love's foe, love's foe; Has seiz'd on his arms, his quiver and bow; Has pinion'd his wings, and fetter'd his feet, Because he made way for lovers to meet. But O sad chance, his judge was old; Hearts cruel grow, when blood grows cold. No man being young, his process would draw. O heavens that love should be subject to law! Lovers go woo the dead, the dead! Lie two in a grave, and to bed, to bed! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHY I WRITE NOT OF LOVE by BEN JONSON A TEAMSTER'S FAREWELL by CARL SANDBURG STANZAS, ON THE DEATH OF LIEUT. P. by BERNARD BARTON RESENTIENTS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN AN INTRUSION by DANIEL CHAUNCEY BREWER LOVE AND FAME by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON |