Unit, like Death, for Whom?

True, like the Tomb,

Who tells no secret

Told to Him —

The Grave is strict —

Tickets admit

Just two — the Bearer —

And the Borne —

And seat — just One —...


           Make me no vows of constancy, dear friend,

           To love me, though I die, thy whole life long,

           And love no other till thy days shall end;

           Nay, it were rash and wrong.



Wait till the Majesty of Death

Invests so mean a brow!

Almost a powdered Footman

Might dare to touch it now!

Wait till in Everlasting Robes

That Democrat is dressed,

Then prate about "Preferment" —...