I From out the darkness cometh never a sound: No voice doth reach us from the silent place: There is one goal beyond life's blindfold race, For victor and for victim -- burial-ground. O friend, revered, belov'd, mayst thou have found Beyond the shadowy gates a yearning face, A beckoning hand to guide thee with swift pace From the dull wave Lethean gliding round. Hope dwelt with thee, not Fear; Faith, not Despair: But little heed thou hadst of the grave's gloom. What though thy body lies so deeply there Where the land throbs with tidal surge and boom, Thy soul doth breathe some Paradisal air And Rest long sought thou hast where amaranths bloom. II Yet even if Death indeed with pitiful sign Bade us drink deep of some oblivious draught, Is it not well to know, ere we have quaffed The soul-deceiving poppied anodyne, That not in vain erewhile we drink the wine Of life -- that not all blankly or in craft Of evil went the days wherein we laughed And joyed i' the sun unknowing aught divine? Not so thy doom, whatever fate betide: Not so for thee, O poet-heart and true, Who fearless watched, as evermore it grew, The shadow of Death creep closer to thy side. A glory with thy ebbing life withdrew And we inherit now its deathless Pride. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS by ROBERT BURNS THE CAT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE WILD RIDE by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY THE LITTLE TURTLE by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY A HOUSE by JOHN COLLINGS SQUIRE TO DEATH OF HIS LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON |