What death is worse than this, When my delight, My weal, my joy, my bliss, Is from my sight? Both day and night My life, alas, I miss. For though I seem alive, My heart is hence; Thus, bootless for to strive Out of presence Of my defense, Toward my death I drive. Heartless, alas, what man May long endure? Alas, how live I then? Since no recure May me assure, My life I may well ban. Thus doth my torment go In deadly dread; Alas, who might live so Alive as dead, Alive to lead A deadly life in woe? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AS THE TEAM'S HEAD BRASS by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS COMMUNION by DOROTHY P. ALBAUGH VERSES TO A YOUNG FRIEND by BERNARD BARTON FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SLEEPER'S COUNTENANCE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |