What will you do, God, when I die? I am your jar (if cracked, I lie?) Your well-spring (if the well go dry?) I am your craft, your vesture, I, you lose your purport, losing me. When I go, your cold house will be empty of words that made it sweet. I am the sandals your bare feet will seek and long for, wearily. Your cloak will fall from aching bones. Your glance, that my warm cheeks have cheered as with a cushion, long endeared, will wonder at a loss so weird, and when the sun has disappeared, lie in the lap of alien stones. What will you do, God? I'm afeared. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE: THE MEDITERRANEAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA WAR IS KIND: 23 by STEPHEN CRANE COMMEMORATION ODE READ AT HARVARD UNIVERSITY by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL CARMEN BELLICOSUM by GUY HUMPHREYS MCMASTER THE DEATH-BED by SIEGFRIED SASSOON |