And all my thoughts shall backward turn;
When eyes shall cease to glow with love,
And heart with generous fire to burn,
I’ll ask no boon of any one,
But sing old songs, and sit i’ the sun.
When sounds grow low to deafening ears,
And suns shine not as once they did;
When parting is no more a grief,
And I do whatsoe’er they bid,
I’ll ask no boon of any one,