We are afraid that we have not lived. We are not afraid of dying. Toss images to the indifferent morning Amid laughter and crying -- Amid fitful buffetings of strangled hearts While they are dying. Draw tight the words of death shivering On the strictured page -- The cup of Morgan Fay is shattered. Life is a bitter sage, And we are weary infants In a palsied age. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MIMNERMUS IN CHURCH by WILLIAM JOHNSON CORY TO THE BOY by ELIZABETH CLEMENTINE DODGE KINNEY NO LONGER COULD I DOUBT HIM TRUE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR TOM DEADLIGHT by HERMAN MELVILLE CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR by ROSSITER WORTHINGTON RAYMOND LONGFELLOW by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM by ROBERT SOUTHEY COMPLAINS, BEING HIND'RED THE SIGHT OF HIS NYMPH by PHILIP AYRES |