I am afraid to think about my death, When it shall be, and whether in great pain I shall rise up and fight the air for breath Or calmly wait the bursting of my brain. I am no coward who could seek in fear A folk-lore solace or sweet Indian tales: I know dead men are deaf and cannot hear The singing of a thousand nightingales. I know dead men are blind and cannot see The friend that shuts in horror their big eyes, And they are witless -- O, I'd rather be A living mouse than dead as a man dies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BRIDGE: PROEM. TO BROOKLYN BRIDGE by HAROLD HART CRANE EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE BATTLE-CRY OF FREEDOM by GEORGE FREDERICK ROOT GRECIAN KINDNESS: A SONG by JOHN WILMOT BUONAPARTE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH PARTY CARD NO. 224332 by ALEXANDR ILYICH BEZYMENSKY |