Classic Poem

I HAVE seen death in many a varied guise,
Cruel and tender, rude and beautiful,
Looking through windows in a young child's eyes,
Stealing as soft as shadows in a pool,
Falling a sudden arrow of dismay,
Blown on a bugle with an iron note:
The slow and gentle progress of decay,
The taking of a strong man by the throat.

I have seen flowers wither and the leaf
Of lusty Summer burn to hectic red.
But ah! that splendid death untouched by grief:
The sun with glad and golden-visaged head
Superbly standing on his deadly pyre,
And sinking in a sea of jewelled fire!