"

But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. The strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!

"

Seen on a night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumn, evanescent, wan, The moon.

"

With night's Dim veil and blue I will cover my eyes, I will bind close my eyes that are So weary.

"

As it Were tissue of silver I'll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.

"

Dost thou Not feel them slip, How cold! how cold! the moon's Thin wavering finger-tips, along Thy throat?

"

Ere the horne'd owl hoot Once and twice and thrice there shall Go among the blind brown worms News of thy great burial; When the pomp is passed away, ...more