When, be the skies or dark or fair,
Shall added be the Year I die!
And as I note each feast of song
On earth; each joy, each loss or birth,
Shall I not give—nor thus be wrong—
A thought to that, when clogging earth
Shall hold me bond-slave here no more!
No more shall dim with tears mine eyes;
When I shall simply pass the door
No living hand impatient tries!