 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Day of Denial
Are there not twelve whole hours in every dayThe sun upon thy dial marks for toil;
How is it some but five, some seven say,
And some among you of the whole make spoil?
Thinkst thou to gain by taking from your life,
By dying many hours to live the more?
Dost thou not see the suicidal knife,
Made hour by hour yet redder in thy gore?
The day! the living day! how soon tis night,
With him who rises not till near its noon;
His candle lit for many hours to light,
Put out e'er yet he learned to prize the boon;
How dark his darkness, who till latest eve
Still slumbers on nor then his couch will leave!
Poem No. 51; fall 1838–summer 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |