No pain that mars the trembling brow, No flutterings of the soul were his; Death, shaken softly from its bough, Dropt downward, and its touch a kiss. Clasped in a cloud of secret prayer, Faint, from the upland path he trod, Sighing, he sank through veils of air, -- Then round him felt the Arms of God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OWEN SEAMAN; ESTABLISHES ENTENE CORDIALE IN MANNER GUY WETMORE CARRYL by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE SUPPLIANT by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE I SAW THREE SHIPS by MOTHER GOOSE SONNET: 86 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE DOGS ABOUT THEIR BUSINESS by CLARISSA BUCKLIN |