OUR night repast was ended: quietness Return'd again: the boys were in their books; The old man slept, and by him slept his dog: My thoughts were in the dream-land of tomorrow: A knock is heard; anon the maid brings in A black-seal'd letter that some over-work'd Late messenger leaves. Each one looks round and scans, But lifts it not, and I at last am told To read it. "Died here at his house this day" -- Some well-known name not needful here to print, Follows at length. Soon all return again To their first stillness, but the old man coughs, And cries, "Ah, he was always like the grave, And still he was but young!" while those who stand On life's green threshold smile within themselves, Thinking how very old he was to them, And what long years, what memorable deeds, Are theirs in prospect! Little care have they What old man dies, what child is born, indeed; Their day is coming, and their sun shall shine! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRELUDE TO A FAIRY TALE by EDITH SITWELL DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SIBYLLA'S DIRGE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES A MOTHER TO HER SICK CHILD by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES SESTINA OF THE TRAMP ROYAL by RUDYARD KIPLING THE BRONCHO THAT WOULD NOT BE BROKEN by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY ELEGIAC SONNET: 2. WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF SPRING by CHARLOTTE SMITH PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 32 by EDWARD TAYLOR |