OH, let my lord laugh in his halls When he the tale shall tell! But woe to Jarlwell and its walls When I shall laugh as well! And he that laughs the last, lads, Laughs well, laughs well! He's lord of many a burg and farm And mickle thralls and gold, And I am but my own right arm, My dwelling-place the wold. But when we twain meet face to face, He will not laugh so bold. The shame he chuckles as he shows This time he need not tell; I'll give his body to the crows And his black soul to Hell. For he that laughs the last, lads, Laughs well, laughs well! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD WEST by THOMAS GRAY BABY RUNNING BAREFOOT by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE CRITICS AND CONNOISSEURS by MARIANNE MOORE SONNET WRITTEN IN THE FALL OF 1914: 4 by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY THE SEAMY SIDE OF MOTLEY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS OUR BROTHER'S KEEPER by W. H. ANDERSON |