ETERNAL rest on him bestowe, O Lord, and everlastynge light, Who lacked withal for sup or bite, Shorn close on scalp and chin and browe, Who was scrap't bare and smooth, I trowe As any turnip round, poor wighte: Eternal rest on him bestowe. Hard doome befell him here belowe, Drove forth and smote him in sore spite, Though "I appeal!" he cried with mighte, A form of speech that's playne enowe: Eternal rest on him bestowe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VARIATIONS: 17 by CONRAD AIKEN BURNING DAWN by HAYDEN CARRUTH MOTHER (MARGERY CARRUTH, 1896-1981) by HAYDEN CARRUTH SONG:SO WHY DOES THIS DEAD CARNATION by HAYDEN CARRUTH THREE SONNETS by RICHARD WILBUR THE AUDACIOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO W.E.B. DUBOIS - SCHOLAR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |