Lord John Wilmot

Oxfordshire / England
Lord John Wilmot
Oxfordshire / England
Explore Poems GO!

A Fragment Of Seneca Translated

Rating: 3.4
After Death nothing is, and nothing, death,
The utmost limit of a gasp of breath.
Let the ambitious zealot lay aside
His hopes of heaven, whose faith is but his pride;
Let slavish souls lay by their fear
Nor be concerned which way nor where
After this life they shall be hurled.
Dead, we become the lumber of the world,
And to that mass of matter shall be swept
Where things destroyed with things unborn are kept.
Devouring time swallows us whole.
Impartial death confounds body and soul.
For Hell and the foul fiend that rules
God's everlasting fiery jails
(Devised by rogues, dreaded by fools),
With his grim, grisly dog that keeps the door,
Are senseless stories, idle tales,
Dreams, whimseys, and no more.
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS
* Sunprincess * 21 January 2016
.......a most interesting and poetic write of death....certainly and intriguing and mysterious theme ?
0 0 Reply

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

4/14/2021 2:20:10 PM # 1.0.0.559