The poet judges not as a judge judges but as the sun falling around a helpless thing.

After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, and so on - have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wear - what remains? Nature remains.

So here I sit in the early candle-light of old age-I and my book-casting backward glances over out travel'd road.

From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines.

Over all the sky - the sky! Far, far out of reach, studded with eternal stars.

Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later, delicate death.

I sing the body that is electric! I celebrate the Self yet to be unveiled!