HOW much more blest are trees than men! Their boughs lopp'd off will grow again; But if the steel our limbs dissever, The joint once lost is lost for ever. But fondly I (dull fool) complain, Our members shall revive again, And thou (poor finger) that art dust Before the other members, must Return as soon as heavens command, And reunited be to th' hand, As those that are not ashes yet. Why dost thou then so envious sit, And malice oaks that they to fate Are tenants of a longer date? Their leases do more years include; But (once expir'd) are ne'er renew'd. Therefore, dear finger, though thou be Cut from those muscles govern'd thee, And had thy motion at command, Yet still as in a margent stand, To point my thoughts to fix upon The hope of resurrection. And since thou canst no finger be Be a death's-head to humble me, till death doth threat her sting in vain, And we in heaven shake hands again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 24. THE STREET by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL SONNET: 54 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE GODODDIN: THE DEATH OF HOEL by ANEIRIN LYSISTRATA: HOW THE WOMEN WILL STOP WAR by ARISTOPHANES THE LOUD SILENCE by SUSIE MONTGOMERY BEST |