(1812-1889 / London / England)


Take the cloak from his face, and at first
Let the corpse do its worst!

How he lies in his rights of a man!
Death has done all death can.
And, absorbed in the new life he leads,
He recks not, he heeds
Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike
On his senses alike,
And are lost in the solemn and strange
Surprise of the change.
Ha, what avails death to erase
His offence, my disgrace?
I would we were boys as of old
In the field, by the fold:
His outrage, God's patience, man's scorn
Were so easily borne!

I stand here now, he lies in his place:
Cover the face!

User Rating: 3,0 / 5 ( 122 votes ) 20

Comments (20)

The sad feeling from the poem which is about the death and that too from the great poet. exquisite.
God's patience. That exquisite phrase says it all.
again death gets nothing much out of its behaviour
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what a wonderful poem.....................
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