(Deathless Death) <br /> <br />At eve when the brief wintry day is sped, <br />I muse beside my fire's faint-flickering glare- <br />Conscious of wrinkling face and whitening hair- <br />Of those who, dying young, inherited <br />The immortal youthfulness of the early dead. <br />I think of Raphael's grand-seigneurial air; <br />Of Shelley and Keats, with laurels fresh and fair <br />Shining unwithered on each sacred head; <br />And soldier boys who snatched death's starry prize, <br />With sweet life radiant in their fearless eyes, <br />The dreams of love upon their beardless lips, <br />Bartering dull age for immortality; <br />Their memories hold in death's unyielding fee <br />The youth that thrilled them to the finger-tips.<br /><br />John Hay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thanatos-athanatos/
