This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
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I had a very big moment just reading this poem once. The way it is structured those last lines really hit you. Great, great stuff.
And so his hope is extended as an offering, will we carry his torch? He is calling for an answer