Three score years I lived; and then Looked for to live another ten. But he who from the Hale and Quick Robs the pure Oile that feeds the Wick Chanced my enfeebled frame to mark -- Hence, this unutterable Darke. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ANGEL, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE SONG, FR. MEASURE FOR MEASURE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE SAD MOTHER by KATHARINE TYNAN LEGENDARY LIGHTS by ALTER ABELSON ODE TO THE SWALLOW by ANACREON |