Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
V. Death
By Thomas Hood (1799–1845)
IT is not death, that some time in a sigh
This eloquent breath shall take its speechless flight;
That some time these bright stars, that now reply
In sunlight to the sun, shall set in night;
That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite;        5
And all life’s ruddy springs forget to flow;
That thoughts shall cease, and the immortal spright
Be lapped in alien clay and laid below;
It is not death to know this,—but to know
That pious thoughts, which visit at new graves        10
In tender pilgrimage, will cease to go
So duly and so oft;—and when grass waves
Over the past-away, there may be then
No resurrection in the minds of men.

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