THIS is the end of him, here he lies: <br /> The dust in his throat, the worm in his eyes, <br /> The mould in his mouth, the turf on his breast; <br /> This is the end of him, this is best. <br /> He will never lie on his couch awake, <br /> Wide-eyed, tearless, till dim daybreak. <br /> Never again will he smile and smile <br /> When his heart is breaking all the while. <br /> He will never stretch out his hands in vain <br /> Groping and groping--never again. <br /> Never ask for bread, get a stone instead, <br /> Never pretend that the stone is bread. <br /> Never sway and sway 'twixt the false and true, <br /> Weighing and noting the long hours through. <br /> Never ache and ache with chok'd-up sighs; <br /> This is the end of him, here he lies.<br /><br />Amy Levy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epitaph-on-a-commonplace-person-who-died-in-bed/
