People, like cattle, Are roped and thrown And branded by Death For his very own. The white-hot iron Of Heaven pressed To quivering thigh And naked breast. And are then turned loose To graze at will From life's arroyo And arid hill. For Death well knows That each shall Come at last To his corral. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 5. THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE PRINCESS: SONG by ALFRED TENNYSON MY FORMER LIFE by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE PSALM 40. EXPECTANS EXPECTAVI by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE ENVOI by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB WISDOM UNAPPLIED by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |