He bore the brunt of it so long And carried it off with wine and song, The neighbours paused and raised an eye At hearing he had learned to die. 'Twas on a Friday that he died, But Easter day his neighbours spied His usual figure on the streets, And one and all were white as sheets. I died, said he, on Good Friday, But someone rolled the stone away. And I come back to you alive To die tonight at half past five. Monday at Babylon I fall, And Tuesday on the Chinese wall, Wednesday I die on the Thracian plain, And Thursday evening at Compiegne. Saturday, Sunday, Monday too, I die and come to life anew; Neighbours like Thomas look and touch Amazed that I can live so much. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF CONTEMPORARY WRITERS: 2 by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ON GROWING OLD by JOHN MASEFIELD KARMA by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON TO SARAH TAYLOR by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD MY PRAYER by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 8 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT MARCELIA; A TRAGICOMEDY, SELECTION by FRANCES BOOTHBY |