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(21 November 1787 – 5 October 1874 / Leeds, England)

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King Death

King Death was a rare old fellow!
He sate where no sun could shine;
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And poured out his coal-black wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!

There came to him many a Maiden,
Whose eyes had forgot to shine;
And Widows, with grief o'erladen,
For a draught of his sleepy wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!

The Scholar left all his learning;
The Poet his fancied woes;
And the Beauty her bloom returning,
Like life to the fading rose.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!

All came to the royal old fellow,
Who laugh'd till his eyes dropped brine,
As he gave them his hand so yellow,
And pledged them in Death's black wine.
Hurrah! ­Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!

Submitted: Tuesday, March 06, 2012


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Comments about this poem (The Old Witch in the Copse by Barry Cornwall )

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  • Ekaterina M. Polischuk (3/6/2012 10:37:00 AM)

    wonderful poem... i like the characters of the poem and the way you describe them)

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