As in the midst of battle there is room For thoughts of love, and in foul sin for mirth; As gossips whisper of a trinket's worth Spied by the death-bed's flickering candle-gloom; As in the crevices of Caesar's tomb The sweet herbs flourish on a little earth: So in this great disaster of our birth We can be happy, and forget our doom. For morning, with a ray of tenderest joy Gilding the iron heaven, hides the truth, And evening gently woos us to employ Our grief in idle catches. Such is youth; Till from that summer's trance we wake, to find Despair before us, vanity behind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 106 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE MAIDEN CITY by CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH TONNA CHINA 1937 by LAURA FRANCES ALEXANDER TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. THE OPEN SECRET by EDWARD CARPENTER QUATRAIN: BEAUTY by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN |