Alas, poor Death! Where is thy glory?
Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting?
Alas, poor mortal, void of story!
Go spell and read how I have killed thy King.
Poor Death! And who was hurt thereby?
Thy curse being laid on Him makes thee accurst.
Let losers talk, yet thou shalt die;
These arms shall crush thee.
Spare not, do thy worst.
I shall be one day better than before;
Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.
Read poems about / on: death
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Comments about this poem (A Dialogue-Anthem by George Herbert )
- Rescue the Poor Eves!, Dr John Celes
- Extend hand at once, hasmukh amathalal
- Memory, Benhardi Dicka
- Canoeing, Doyen Lingua
- Like child, hasmukh amathalal
- Her Saturday Ritual, Arno Le Roux
- Loving Across Seasons, Arno Le Roux
- I wish to be earthen lamp, Aftab Alam
- The Business Of Life, Arno Le Roux
- Adaptation, maria sudibyo
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