AS those we love decay, we die in part, String after string is sever'd from the heart; Till loosen'd life, at last but breathing clay, Without one pang is glad to fall away. Unhappy he who latest feels the blow! Whose eyes have wept o'er every friend laid low, Dragg'd ling'ring on from partial death to death, Till, dying, all he can resign is -- breath. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE KING OF SPAIN by MAXWELL BODENHEIM THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 17. A LOVER'S PLEA by THOMAS CAMPION THE LITTLE BLACK-EYED REBEL by WILLIAM MCKENDREE CARLETON HE'D BE NOTHING BUT HIS VIOLIN by MARY KYLE DALLAS PETER STUYVESANT'S NEW YEAR'S CALL, 1 JAN. 1661 by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN THE BOAST OF THE TIDES by WILLIAM ROSE BENET INTERNAL FIRESIDES by MATHILDE BLIND |