 | Poems |  |
Oh! rural walk! Thy stillness now how sweet,
Thy stillness and thy gloom, as erst thy song,
Thy morning-smile, and flower!—from sickness now
I come, to count the sum of human life,
A sum how small! to muse its many ills,
Its frailties, follies, numerous; and I come,
To muse on death;—for Wakefield is no more.
Thy stillness and thy gloom, as erst thy song,
Thy morning-smile, and flower!—from sickness now
I come, to count the sum of human life,
A sum how small! to muse its many ills,
Its frailties, follies, numerous; and I come,
To muse on death;—for Wakefield is no more.
| Poems | |