Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/135

 I said, "When I am gone away, 'He dared not tarry,' men will say, Doing dishonour to my clay."

"This is more vile," he made reply, "To breathe and loathe, to live and sigh, Than once from dread of pain to die.

"Sick art thou—a divided will Still heaping on the fear of ill The fear of men, a coward still.

"Do men love thee? Art thou so bound To men, that how thy name may sound Will vex thee lying underground?

"The memory of the wither'd leaf In endless time is scarce more brief Than of the garner'd Autumn-sheaf.