Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/198

138 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! ye might have dragged me on

Another day, a single one!

Too soon I yielded to despair;

Why did ye listen to my prayer?

When ye 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 ye were gone away.