Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/64

12 My fire is dead: it knew no pain;

Yet is it dead, and I remain.

All stiff with ice the ashes lie;

And they are dead, and I will die.

When I was well, I wished to live,

For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire;

But they to me no joy can give,

No pleasure now, and no desire.

Then here contented will I lie;

Alone I cannot fear to die.

Alas! you might have dragged me on

Another day, a single one!

Too soon despair o'er me prevailed;

Too soon my heartless spirit failed;

When you were gone my limbs were stronger,

And Oh how grievously I rue,

That, afterwards, a little longer,

My friends, I did not follow you!

For strong and without pain I lay,

My friends, when you were gone away.