I warn, like the one drop of rain <br />On your face, ere the storm; <br />Or tremble in whispered refrain <br />With your blood, beating warm. <br />I am the presence that ever <br />Baffles your touch's endeavor,— <br />Gone like the glimmer of dust <br />Dispersed by a gust. <br />I am the absence that taunts you, <br />The fancy that haunts you; <br />The ever unsatisfied guess <br />That, questioning emptiness, <br />Wins a sigh for reply. <br />Nay; nothing am I, <br />But the flight of a breath— <br />For I am Death!<br /><br />George Parsons Lathrop<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-voice-of-the-void/
