Author Richard Henry Dana “The fewer heirs, the richer, man! Hold forth your palm, and keep your prate! Our life, we read, is but a span. What matters soon or late?”And when on shore, and asked, Did many die?“Near half my crew, poor lads!” he 'd say, and sigh. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 2 (2 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments