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HEN I was bold, when I was bold— And that’s a hundred years!— Oh, never I thought my breast could hold The terrible weight of tears.

I said: “Now some be dolorous; I hear them wail and sigh, And if it be Love that play them thus, Then never a love will I.”

I said: “I see them rack and rue, I see them wring and ache, And little I’ll crack my heart in two With little the heart can break.”

When I was gay, when I was gay— It’s ninety years and nine!— Oh, never I thought that Death could lay His terrible hand in mine.

I said: “He plies his trade among The musty and infirm, A body so hard and bright and young Could never be meat for worm.”

“I see him dull their eyes,” I said, “And still their rattling breath. And how under God could I be dead That never was meant for Death?”