THE feeble pulse, the gasping breath, The clenched teeth, the glazed eye, Are these thy sting, thou dreadful death? O grave, are these thy victory! The mourners by our parting bed, The wife, the children weeping nigh, The dismal pageant of the dead, -- These, these are not thy victory! But from the much-loved world to part, Our lust untamed, our spirit high, All nature struggling at the heart, Which, dying, feels it dare not die! To dream through life a gaudy dream Of pride and pomp and luxury, Till waken'd by the nearer gleam Of burning boundless agony; To meet o'er-soon our angry King, Whose love we pass'd unheeded by; Lo this, O death, thy deadliest sting! O grave, and this thy victory! O Searcher of the secret heart, Who deign'd for sinful man to die! Restore us ere the spirit part, Nor give to hell the victory! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEW INN: A VISION OF BEAUTY by BEN JONSON DRINKING SONG (1) by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE LYDFORD JOURNEY by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE CARPENTER LAD by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON LOVE AND DEATH by GEORGE GORDON BYRON SONG: A BEAUTIFUL MISTRESS by THOMAS CAREW |