Thou arrant robber, Death! <br />Couldst thou not find <br />Some lesser one than he <br />To rob of breath,-- <br />Some poorer mind <br />Thy prey to be? <br /> <br />His mind was like the sky,-- <br />As pure and free; <br />His heart was broad and open <br />As the sea. <br />His soul shone purely through his face, <br />And Love made him her dwelling place. <br /> <br />Not less the scholar than the friend, <br />Not less a friend than man; <br />The manly life did shorter end <br />Because so broad it ran. <br /> <br />Weep not for him, unhappy Muse! <br />His merits found a grander use <br />Some other-where. God wisely sees <br />The place that needs his qualities. <br />Weep not for him, for when Death lowers <br />O'er youth's ambrosia-scented bowers <br />He only plucks the choicest flowers.<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-death-of-w-c/
