Explore Poems GO!

Sonnets Of The Blood Iii

Rating: 3.0

Then, brother, you would never think me vain
Or rude, if I should mention dignity;
Think little of it. Dignity's the stain
Of mortal sin that knows humility.
Let me design the hour when you were born
Since, if that's vain, it's only childlike so:
Like an attempting frost on April corn
Considerate death would hardly let you go.
Reckon the cost-if you would validate
Once more our slavery to circumstance

Not by contempt of a prescriptive fate
Read More

READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS OF THE POEM