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About This Poem
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.
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