That hospital wherein the old monks died
Stood but a stone’s throw from the monastery:
“Make there my couch to-night,” he said, and smiled:
They marvelled, yet obeyed. There, hour by hour,
The man, low-seated on his pallet-bed,
In silence watched the courses of the stars,
Or casual spake at times of common things,
And three times played with childhood’s days, and twice
His father named. At last, like one that, long
Begirt with good, is smit by sudden thought