The enemy of life, decayer of all kind, That with his cold withers away the green, This other night me in my bed did find, And offered me to rid my fever clean; And I did grant, so did despair me blind. He drew his bow with arrow sharp and keen, And struck the place where love had hit before, And drove the first dart deeper more and more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE QUALITY OF COURAGE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CONTRA MORTEM: THE STONE by HAYDEN CARRUTH DRIVING INTO LARAMIE by JAMES GALVIN AFTER WRITING A POEM by DAVID IGNATOW RETROSPECT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SURFACES AND MASKS; 6 by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMESDAY BOOK: HENRY MURRAY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |