In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud: Under the bludgeoning of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed.

And lo, the Hospital, gray, quiet, old, Where life and death like friendly chafferers meet.

Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Madam Life's a piece in bloom Death goes dogging everywhere: she's the tenant of the room, he's the ruffian on the stair.

Life is, I think, a blunder and a shame.

So be my passing! My task accomplished and the long day done, My wages taken, and in my heart Some late lark singing, Let me be gathered in the quiet west, The sundown splendid and serene, Death.

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies.