What was once to me mere matter of the fancy now has grown the vast necessity of heart and life.

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, the moons increase,And the great ages onward roll. Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet;Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many summer dies the swan. Me only cruel immortality Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world.

I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.

And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.

A still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?

The thrall in person may be free in soul