Mix’d with the crowd, unmark’d if not unseen;
Uninterrupted, I might ramble on,
Nor cause an interest, nor a thought, in one.
For who looks backward to a being tost
About the world, forgotten long, and lost;
For whom, departing, not a tear was shed,
Who disappear’d, was missing, and was dead—
Save that he left no grave, where some might pass,
And ask each other who that being was! 110
I, as a ghost invisible, can stray