Take them, O Death! and bear away Whatever thou canst call thine own! Thine image, stamped upon this clay, Doth give thee that, but that alone! Take them, O Grave! and let them lie Folded upon thy narrow shelves, As garments by the soul laid by, And precious only to ourselves! Take them, O great Eternity! Our little life is but a gust That bends the branches of thy tree, And trails its blossoms in the dust! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHALL I SAY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO EMILIE BIGELOW HAPGOOD - PHILANTHROPIST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE CRESCENT MOON by AMY LOWELL GOD AND MY COUNTRY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO THE PEACOCK OF FRANCE by MARIANNE MOORE AN ISLAND (SAINT HELENA, 1821) by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |