Doctors
1923
Man dies too soon, beside his works half-planned.
His days are counted and reprieve is vain:
Who shall entreat with Death to stay his hand;
Or cloke the shameful nakedness of pain?
Send here the bold, the seekers of the way--
The passionless, the unshakeable of soul,
Who serve the inmost mysteries of man's clay,
And ask no more than leave to make them whole.
Poem by
Rudyard Kipling
Biography |
Poems
| Best Poems | Short Poems
| Quotes
|
Email Poem |
More Poems by Rudyard Kipling
Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on Doctors
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Doctors here.
Commenting turned off, sorry.