Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/63

Rh THE DYING POET.

knew that he was dying; day by day

He felt the silver chords within his bosom

Mysteriously but palpably give way,

And he cared not that death so soon should loose them;

For a dull grief was carking in his breast,

That while his heart beat would not be at rest.

There had been flowers in his course at morn,

But one by one had withered on his way;

His heart was heavy, and his feet were torn,

And yet no close came to his weary day;

The night was distant, but he prayed to die

Before its shadows darkened in his sky.