Poem - Ii - Poem by Henry Treece
Death walks through the mind's dark woods,
Beautiful as aconite,
A lily-flower in his pale hand
And eyes like moonstones burning bright.
Love walks down heart's corridors
Singing for a crust of bread
All the tales of laughing youth
Who tomorrow will lie dead.
Here two summer metaphors;
For even on a sun-mad day
Laughter breaks into salt tears,
And grave is never far away.
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The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
William Ernest Henley
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night