We present this work in honor of Pentecost.

English
1572 – 1631
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
What is the purpose of this site. Is it a part of Blog writing of somebody or an independent site?
Van I publish poems here?
LikeLike
The purpose of this site is to celebrate verse, both classic and modern, from around the world. I am the sole curator.
The site is not a publishing space for first-time poets (there are already a zillion of those throughout the internet) but a space to enjoy the extant work of those who have come before us.
Thank you for your interest.
LikeLike