Poems by Hartley Coleridge With a Memoir of his Life by his Brother. In Two Volumes |
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 | Poems by Hartley Coleridge |  |
14
XII.
Think upon Death, 'tis good to think of Death,But better far to think upon the Dead.
Death is a spectre with a bony head,
Or the mere mortal body without breath,
The state foredoom'd of every son of Seth,
Decomposition—dust, or dreamless sleep.
But the dear Dead are they for whom we weep,
For whom I credit all the Bible saith.
Dead is my father, dead is my good mother,
And what on earth have I to do but die?
But if by grace I reach the blessed sky,
I fain would see the same, and not another;
The very father that I used to see,
The mother that has nursed me on her knee.
| Poems by Hartley Coleridge | |