COME, Terror of the wise, and valiant, come, And with a sigh let my griev'd soul have room Amongst the shades; then shall my cares be gone; All there drink Waters of Oblivion. So went the Heroes of the World, and so Or soon, or late, all that are born must go; Thou, Death, to me art welcome as a friend, For thou with life putt'st to my griefs an end. Of this poor earth, and blast of breath allied, How easily by thee the knot's untied: This spring of tears which trickles from mine eyes Is natural, and when I die, it dries. Matter for sighs I drew with my first breath, And now a sigh ushers my soul to death; So cares and griefs determine by consent, This favour owe I to my monument. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LETTER TO JOSEPH WARREN by ROBERT FROST GETHSEMANE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PERSPECTIVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON AGING TOGETHER by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 3 by CLARENCE MAJOR |