MORTAL my mate, bearing my rock-a-heart Warm beat with cold beat company, shall I Earlier or you fail at our force, and lie The ruins of, rifled, once a world of art? The telling time our task is; time's some part, Not all, but we were framed to fail and die -- One spell and well that one. There, ah thereby Is comfort's carol of all or woe's worst smart. Field-flown, the departed day no morning brings Saying 'This was yours' with her, but new one, worse, And then that last and shortest... | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 11 by EZRA POUND A THUNDER-STORM (2ND VERSION) by EMILY DICKINSON THE SPIRIT OF POETRY by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO A DOG by JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 8 by EDWARD TAYLOR SAINT AGNES' EVE by ALFRED TENNYSON LI HUA'S MESSENGER by PETER BETHANIS |