At threescore winters' end I died
A cheerless being sole and sad;
The nuptial knot I never tied,
And wish my father never had.

Painter, this likeness is too strong,
And we shall mourn the dead too long.

My name -- my country -- what are they to thee!
What, whether base or proud my pedigree?
Perhaps I far surpass'd all other men--
Perhaps I fell below them all -- what then?
Suffice it, stranger! that thou seest a tomb--
Thou know'st its use -- it hides -- no matter whom.

Like thee I once have stemm'd the sea of life,
Like thee have languish'd after empty joys,
Like thee have labour'd in the stormy strife,
Been grieved for trifles, and amused with toys.

Forget my frailties; thou art also frail:
Forgive my lapses; for thyself may'st fall:
Nor read unmoved my artless tender tale--

O mortal folk, you may behold and see
How I lie here, sometime a mighty knight;
The end of joy and all prosperitee
   Is death at last, thorough his course and might:
   After the day there cometh the dark night,
   For though the daye be never so long,
   At last the bells ringeth to evensong.

On a monument formed as a curving wave

By ceaseless waves, that break and waste,
All human record is effaced:
Only our love in brief defence
Shall hold the billow in suspense.

Since Milo rallies sacred Writ,
To win the Title of a Wit;
'Tis pity but he shou'd obtain it,
Who bravely pays his Soul to gain it.

A is defrauded of his land by B,
Who's driven from the premises by C.
D buys the place with coin of plundered E.
'That A's an Anarchist!' says F to G.

Had never vessel cross'd the main,
Our present grief had been in vain;
But we for Sopolis must weep,
Now plung'd beneath the whelming deep:
The surges toss his breathless frame;
An empty tomb preserves his name.

We drop in the evening like dew
upon the ground and the living
feel it on their faces. Death
soft, moist everywhere upon us,
soon to cover the living
as they drop. This explains
the ocean and the sun.