Of death I try to think like this

Of Death I try to think like this,
The Well in which they lay us
Is but the Likeness of the Brook
That menaced not to slay us,
But to invite by that Dismay
Which is the Zest of sweetness
To the same flower Flower[^a1] Hesperian,
Decoying but to greet us -

[^a1: same flower Flower | same Flower]

I do remember when a Child
With bolder Playmates straying
To where a Brook that seemed a Sea
Withheld us by it's roaring
From just a Purple Flower beyond
Until constrained to clutch it
Were Doom itself the penalty -If Doom itself were the result,
Thebravest boldest leaped, and clutched it -