Mantled in purple dusk, Imperial Death, Thy throne Time's mist, thy crown the clustered stars, Thy orb the world; -- did Nature's countless wars Yield insufficient incense for thy breath? Hadst not enough with all who troop beneath Thy inward-opening gates, whose shadowy bars Give back nor kings in their triumphal cars, Nor the worn throngs that old age hurrieth? O sateless Death, most surely it was thou, (A thousand ages, yea, and longer still, Before the words were heard in Galilee) That saidst with dark contraction of thy brow, As through all Nature ran an icy chill: "Now let the little children come to me." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHILD AND HER STATUE by LOUIS UNTERMEYER MACFLECKNOE; OR, A SATIRE UPON THE TRUE-BLUE-PROTESTANT POET by JOHN DRYDEN TO HIS DEAD BODY by SIEGFRIED SASSOON VENUS AND ADONIS by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH by WALT WHITMAN |