Rebellion against death, the old rebellion Is over; I have nothing left to fight; Battles have always had their meed of music But peace is quiet as a windless night. Therefore I make no songs -- I have grown certain Save when he comes too late, death is a friend, A shepherd leading home his flock serenely Under the planet at the evening's end. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WORD OF AN ENGINEER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON EIGHTEEN-DOLLAR TAXI TRIP TO TIZAPAN AND BACK TO CHAPALA by CLARENCE MAJOR CONSECRATED GROUND; READ AT THE NEW YORK CITY HALL by EDWIN MARKHAM SWEET CLOVER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A LETTER ON THE USE OF MACHINE GUNS AT WEDDINGS by KENNETH PATCHEN IMPRESSIONS OF FRANCOIS-MARIE AROUET (DE VOLTAIRE) by EZRA POUND |