Page:New poems and variant readings, Stevenson, 1918.djvu/79

Rh Fife, fife, into the golden air, O bird,

And sing the morning in;

For the old days are past

And new days begin.

NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS

when the number of my years

Is all fulfilled, and I

From sedentary life

Shall rouse me up to die,

Bury me low and let me lie

Under the wide and starry sky.

Joying to live, I joyed to die,

Bury me low and let me lie.

Clear was my soul, my deeds were free,

Honour was called my name,

I fell not back from fear

Nor followed after fame.

Bury me low and let me lie

Under the wide and starry sky.

Joying to live, I joyed to die,

Bury me low and let me lie.