Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by. Child, if it were thine error or thy crime I care no longer, being all unblest; Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, And I desire to rest. Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie: Go by, go by.

Too much wit makes the world rotten.

All things human change.

Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.

And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!

For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.

The year is dying in the night.