Your "Youth" has fallen from its shelf, And you have fallen, you yourself. They knocked a soldier on the head, I mourn the poet who fell dead. And yet I think it was by chance, By oversight you died in France. You were so poor an outward man, So small against your spirit's span, That Nature, being tired awhile, Saw but your outward human pile; And Nature, who would never let A sun with light still in it set, Before you even reached your sky, In inadvertence let you die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOSTON ATHENAEUM by AMY LOWELL ITALIAN PICTURES: THE COSTA SAN GIORGIO by MINA LOY A NEW HYMN by KATHERINE MANSFIELD A MAN CHILD IS BORN (1839) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: REV. PERCY FERGUSON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |