Of Death I try to think like this


Of Death I try to think like this
The Well in which they lay us
Is but the Likeness of the Brook
That menaced not to slay us,
But to invite by that Dismay
Which is the Zest of sweetness
To the same Flower Hesperian,
Decoying but to greet us

I do remember when a Child
With bolder Playmates straying
To where a Brook that seemed a Sea
Withheld us by its roaring
From just the Purple Flower beyond
Until constrained to clutch it
If Doom itself were the result,
The boldest leaped, and clutched it


1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (2 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)

Of Death I try to think like this