Slow through my bosom's veins their last cold blood is flowing , Above my heart even now I feel the rank grass growing. Hence to the Land of Nought! the caravan is starting- Its bell already tolls the signal of departing. Rejoice, my soul! Poor bird, thou art at last delivered! Thy cage is crumbling fast; its bars will soon be shivered. Farewell, thou troubled world, where Sin and Crime run riot, For Shahi henceforth rests in God's own House of Quiet! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ECSTASY [EXTASIE] by JOHN DONNE CHRISMUS IS A-COMIN' by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 2. FORMER BEAUTIES by THOMAS HARDY TO AN UNBORN PAUPER CHILD by THOMAS HARDY NIGHTINGALE AND CUCKOO by ALFRED AUSTIN MASSACRE OF THE MACPHERSON by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN A GLORY GONE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 103. WRITTEN AT FLORENCE: 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |