Page:The West Indies, and Other Poems.djvu/133

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Close follow'd age, infirm old age,

The winter of my year ; When shall I fall before his rage,

To rise beyond the sphere !

I long to cast the chains away, That hold my soul a slave.

To burst these dungeon-walls of clay, Enfranchised from the grave.

Life lies in embryo, — never free Till Nature yields her breath ;

Till Time becomes Eternity, And Man is born in Death.

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