Hark, now everything is still;
The screech-owl and the whistler shrill
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud;
Much you had of land and rent,
Your length in clay's now competent.
A long war disturbed your mind;
Here your perfect peace is signed.
Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,
Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet,
And (the foul fiend more to check)
A crucifix let bless your neck;
'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day,
End your groan and come away.
John Webster's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Death Song by John Webster )
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- Unriven, Saiom Shriver
- Mid-City's Nursery Rhyme, James B. Earley
- Mum's Birthday, Raghda Ashraf Soliman
- Limerick-14, DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK
- When My Ship Comes In, Mawunyo Adjei
- With elegant grace she overflowed, Erato
- My Words, Asit Kumar Sanyal
- Sealed, Valerie Dohren
- Enamored Love, Lilly Emery
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