'NOT ours,' say some, 'the thought of death to dread; <br /> Asking no heaven, we fear no fabled hell: <br />Life is a feast, and we have banqueted-- <br /> Shall not the worms as well? <br /> <br />'The after-silence, when the feast is o'er, <br /> And void the places where the minstrels stood, <br />Differs in nought from what hath been before, <br /> And is nor ill nor good.' <br /> <br />Ah, but the Apparition--the dumb sign-- <br /> The beckoning finger bidding me forgo <br />The fellowship, the converse, and the wine, <br /> The songs, the festal glow! <br /> <br />And ah, to know not, while with friends I sit, <br /> And while the purple joy is pass'd about, <br />Whether 'tis ampler day divinelier lit <br /> Or homeless night without; <br /> <br />And whether, stepping forth, my soul shall see <br /> New prospects, or fall sheer--a blinded thing! <br />There is, O grave, thy hourly victory, <br /> And there, O death, thy sting.<br /><br />William Watson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-great-misgiving/
