Aye, at the birth o’ wail,
Did set a chill ’pon infant flesh;
And at the track o’ man ’pon Earth
Doth follow ever, and at height afollow,
And doth touch,
And all doth crumble to a naught.
Thou! Thou! Who art thou?
Ever do I to ask, and ever wish
To see the face o’ thee,
And ne’er, ne’er do I to know thee—