Where the wet bank shines With the celandines, And the marigolds mock the moon, Where the violets tender Their deep hearts render To the blackbirds' wistful tune, Where the woolly sheep In their hurdles sleep And the rooks caw from the trees, I must go; for the end Is at hand, my friend, And my heart is sick for these. I must go; for the end Is near, my friend; We have lived. Let loose my hand! I can get no ease In my death, Felise, If I die not in my own land. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GOLDEN CORPSE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CONTRA MORTEM: THE CHILD'S BEING by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE VILLAGE by HAYDEN CARRUTH SAPPHIC SUICIDE NOTE by JAMES GALVIN SPRING BLIZZARD by JAMES GALVIN BEAUTY THAT IS NEVER OLD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON CHARLOTTE CORDAY (REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL, JULY 17, 1793) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |