The Man that runs away
Is tinctured for an instant
With immortality
But yesterday a vagrant
Today in Memory lain
With supersticious value
We tamper with "Again"
But "Never far as Honor
Withdraws the Worthless thing
And impotent to cherish
We hasten to adorn
Of Death the sternest function
That just as we discern
The Excellence defies us
Securest gathered then
The Fruit peverse to plucking
But leaning to the Sight
With the ecstatic limit
Of unobtained Delight,
No comments:
Post a Comment