Share:
  Guess poet | Poets | Poets timeline | Isles | Contacts

Robert W Service - HateRobert W Service - Hate
Work rating: Low


I had a bitter enemy, His heart to hate he gave, And when I died he swore that he Would dance upon my grave; That he would leap and laugh because A livid corpse was I, And that`s the reason why I was In no great haste to die. And then - such is the quirk of fate, One day with joy I read, Despite his vitalizing hate My enemy was dead. Maybe the poison in his heart Had helped to haste his doom: He was not spared till I depart To spit upon my tomb. The other day I chanced to go To where he lies alone. `Tis easy to forgive a foe When he is dead and gone. . . . Poor devil! Now his day is done, (Though bright it was and brave,) Yet I am happy there is none To dance upon my grave.
Source

The script ran 0.001 seconds.