<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=407883" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Death</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My body, eh? Friend Death, how now? <br>Why all this tedious pomp of writ? <br>Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow <br>For half a century bit by bit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In faith thou knowest more to-day <br>Than I do, where it can be found! <br>This shrivelled lump of suffering clay, <br>To which I am now chained and bound,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Has not of kith or kin a trace <br>To the good body once I bore; <br>Look at this shrunken, ghastly face: <br>Didst ever see that face before?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art; <br>Thy only fault thy lagging gait, <br>Mistaken pity in thy heart <br>For timorous ones that bid thee wait.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Do quickly all thou hast to do, <br>Nor I nor mine will hindrance make; <br>I shall be free when thou art through; <br>I grudge thee nought that thou must take!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stay! I have lied; I grudge thee one, <br>Yes, two I grudge thee at this last,-- <br>Two members which have faithful done <br>My will and bidding in the past.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I grudge thee this right hand of mine; <br>I grudge thee this quick-beating heart; <br>They never gave me coward sign, <br>Nor played me once the traitor's part.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see now why in olden days <br>Men in barbaric love or hate <br>Nailed enemies' hands at wild crossways, <br>Shrined leaders' hearts in costly state:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The symbol, sign and instrument <br>Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife, <br>Of fires in which are poured and spent <br>Their all of love, their all of life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O feeble, mighty human hand! <br>O fragile, dauntless human heart! <br>The universe holds nothing planned <br>With such sublime, transcendent art!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine <br>Poor little hand, so feeble now; <br>Its wrinkled palm, its altered line, <br>Its veins so pallid and so slow --</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art; <br>I shall be free when thou art through. <br>Take all there is -- take hand and heart; <br>There must be somewhere work to do.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Helen+Hunt+Jackson">Helen Hunt Jackson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=407883" data-title="Death de Helen Hunt Jackson" data-description="My body, eh? Friend Death, how now? Why all this tedious pomp of writ? Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow For half a century bit by bit. In faith thou knowest more to-day Than I do, where it can be found! This shrivelled lump of suffering ..."></div> </div> </div>

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