D. E. A. WALLACE
Reading edition
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SOMERVILLE
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SONNET IN CONTEMPT OF DEATH
When I consider some day wanton Death With sudden hand ungently laid above The heart of her, my softly-sleeping love, Shall fright away her sweet and rhythmic breath; Shall quell the colour in her flower-face, Inevitable and unheralded As frosts in May that strike the blossom dead— Shall quench her eyes, transfix her dreaming grace; When I consider that her limbs shall be Set stiffly in a strong rigidity; That by-and-by her flesh shall fall away, Unsightly in a horrible decay, Then do I laugh, despite my catching breath— A piteous fool, a sad, blind fool is Death!