Bring flowers to strew His way, Yea, sing, make holiday; Bid young lambs leap, And earth laugh after sleep. For now He cometh forth Winter flies to the north, Folds wings and cries Amid the bergs and ice. Yea, Death, great Death is dead, And Life reigns in his stead; Cometh the Athlete New from dead Death's defeat. Cometh the Wrestler, But Death he makes no stir, Utterly spent and done, And all his kingdom gone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE GOLDEN TARGE by WILLIAM DUNBAR SWITZERLAND AND ITALY by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES NIGHTFALL (1) by WYSTAN HUGH AUDEN A ROOF IS GOOD by MARY CRUMP BOULDIN ON THE LATE CAPT. GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS THRO' SCOTLAND by ROBERT BURNS |