 |
|
|
| 1. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
318
A QUESTION.
If I had been in love with Life, had Death
Seemed any ghastlier, more full of dread,
Or I shrank more from thought of being dead,
Sightless and still, and in my lips no breath,
Night all about me, and the dust beneath?
Not so, I think, for then I should have said:
“I have been glad, though now I make my bed
Where dead folk lie, and never a word one saith.”
Seemed any ghastlier, more full of dread,
Or I shrank more from thought of being dead,
Sightless and still, and in my lips no breath,
Night all about me, and the dust beneath?
Not so, I think, for then I should have said:
“I have been glad, though now I make my bed
Where dead folk lie, and never a word one saith.”
Harder seems this, — to die and leave the sun,
And carry hence each unfulfilled desire.
I heard one cry, “Come where the feast is spread;”
But when I came the festival was done;
Somewhile I shivered by the extinguished fire,
And now retrace my steps uncomforted.
And carry hence each unfulfilled desire.
I heard one cry, “Come where the feast is spread;”
But when I came the festival was done;
Somewhile I shivered by the extinguished fire,
And now retrace my steps uncomforted.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |