Death Do Not Boast

do not rejoice o’er her tho’ she lieth down she still lives on: she still speaks to our clan as long as moon or star or sun does in an untiring journey like an old minstrel drums along the many hazy river alleys thornfill’d oh, death, thou shouldst speak unproudly here beside our lively mother’s grave-stones - thou art too timid & fearful to take the truth: thou, death, were dead years back on a pole where bled her saviour, our saviour – nay! death, thou shouldst be shame-fill’d or art thou too hasty to strike her down with a bow that her saviour had broken on the cross? do not rejoice o’er her tho’ she lieth down she still lives on: she still speaks to our clan.