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
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Dialogue-Anthem by George Herbert )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- one hundred and twenty two miles, days, .., Mandolyn ...
- July 31,2014, Erica Borges
- Where Did It Go To?, Brian Johnston
- The Unapologetic Apology To My Mother (A.., Maurice Harris
- she is fading and then the night swallow.., RIC S. BASTASA
- Everything is yours, RIC S. BASTASA
- The Leg Of A Lamb, Saiom Shriver
- A Task To Master, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Find Me, Amanda Houston
- looking at the universe in our very call.., RIC S. BASTASA