For forty years I shunned the lust Inherent in my clay; Death only was so amorous I let him have his way. _For a Lady I Know_ She even thinks that up in heaven Her class lies late and snores, While poor black cherubs rise at seven To do celestial chores. _For a Lovely Lady_ A creature slender as a reed, And sad-eyed as a doe Lies here (but take my word for it, And do not pry below). _For an Atheist_ Mountains cover me like rain, Billows whirl and rise; Hide me from the stabbing pain In His reproachful eyes. _For an Evolutionist and His Opponent_ Showing that our ways agreed, Death is proof enough; Body seeks the primal clay, Soul transcends the slough. _For an Anarchist_ What matters that I stormed and swore? Not Samson with an ass’s jaw, Not though a forest of hair he wore, Could break death’s adamantine law. _For a Magician_ I whose magic could explore Ways others might not guess or see, Now am barred behind a door That has no “Open Sesame.” _For a Pessimist_ He wore his coffin for a hat, Calamity his cape, While on his face a death’s-head sat And waved a bit of crape. _For a Mouthy Woman_ God and the devil still are wrangling Which should have her, which repel; God wants no discord in his heaven; Satan has enough in hell. _For a Philosopher_ Here lies one who tried to solve The riddle of being and breath: The wee blind mole that gnaws his bones Tells him the answer is death. _For an Unsuccessful Sinner_ I boasted my sins were sure to sink me Out of all sound and sight of glory; And the most I’ve won for all my pains Is a century of purgatory. _For a Fool_ On earth the wise man makes the rules, And is the fool’s adviser, But here the wise are as the fools, (And no man is the wiser). _For One Who Gayly Sowed His Oats_ My days were a thing for me to live, For others to deplore; I took of life all it could give: Rind, inner fruit, and core. _For a Skeptic_ Blood-brother unto Thomas whose Weak faith doubt kept in trammels, His little credence strained at gnats-- But grew robust on camels. _For a Fatalist_ Life ushers some as heirs-elect To weather wind and gale; Here lies a man whose ships were wrecked Ere he could hoist a sail. _For Daughters of Magdalen_ Ours is the ancient story: Delicate flowers of sin, Lilies, arrayed in glory, That would not toil nor spin. _For a Wanton_ To men no more than so much cover For them to doff or try, I found in Death a constant lover: Here in his arms I lie. _For a Preacher_ Vanity of vanities, All is vanity; yea, Even the rod He flayed you with Crumbled and turned to clay. _For One Who Died Singing of Death_