PEACE, peace ! I know 'twas brave ;
But this coarse fleece,
I shelter in, is slave
To no such piece.
When I am gone,
I shall no wardrobes leave
To friend, or son,
But what their own homes weave.
Such, though not proud nor full,
May make them weep,
And mourn to see the wool
Outlast the sheep :
Poor, pious wear !
Hadst thou been rich, or fine,
Perhaps that tear
Had mourn'd thy loss, not mine.
Why then these curl'd, puff'd points,
Or a laced story ?
Death sets all out of joint,
And scorns their glory.
Some love a rose
In hand, some in the skin ;
But, cross to those,
I would have mine within.
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Comments about this poem (Content by Henry Vaughan )
- But we are one, gajanan mishra
- You are my sweet lovely heart, Mazid S Kazi , INDIA
- I am the time, Aftab Alam
- The one who is blessed by the God is su.., Dr.V.K. Kanniappan
- Angel, Asit Kumar Sanyal
- Malaria, hasmukh amathalal
- The life we have lived, Goodenough Sakhile Dlamini
- At our will, hasmukh amathalal
- See the fishes, hasmukh amathalal
- Two Become One, Loide V Augustinus