I wage not any feud with Death
For changes wrought on form and face;
No lower life that earth's embrace
May breed with him, can fright my faith.
Eternal process moving on,
From state to state the spirit walks;
And these are but the shatter'd stalks,
Or ruin'd chrysalis of one.
Nor blame I Death, because he bare
The use of virtue out of earth:
I know transplanted human worth
Will bloom to profit, otherwhere.
For this alone on Death I wreak
The wrath that garners in my heart;
He put our lives so far apart
We cannot hear each other speak.
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Comments
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Something merely between heaven and hell....
"from state to state the spirit walks" "I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit, otherwhere"
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I agree whole heartedly with Hero, but also in the last stanza you can feel the anquish of being separated from the "dearly departed". Eloquently put.
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This is the first poem I have ever read that express's the true nature of death. Not as something good or evil but something that is merely in between heaven and hell.
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