PEACE, peace ! I know 'twas brave ;
But this coarse fleece,
I shelter in, is slave
To no such piece.
When I am gone,
I shall no wardrobes leave
To friend, or son,
But what their own homes weave.
Such, though not proud nor full,
May make them weep,
And mourn to see the wool
Outlast the sheep :
Poor, pious wear !
Hadst thou been rich, or fine,
Perhaps that tear
Had mourn'd thy loss, not mine.
Why then these curl'd, puff'd points,
Or a laced story ?
Death sets all out of joint,
And scorns their glory.
Some love a rose
In hand, some in the skin ;
But, cross to those,
I would have mine within.
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Comments about this poem (Content by Henry Vaughan )
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A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974)
(12 June 1819 – 23 January 1875)
RoseAnn V. Shawiak
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 1, 1921)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(17 June 1867 – 2 September 1922)
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