Poetics | ||
147
ODE XXI. AN EPITAPH FOR A HUMAN BEING.
He did not hate the world, and yet,Liv'd from the world retir'd;
And cheerful he paid Nature's debt,
And unobserv'd expir'd.
162
Does Pity lodge, thy plaintive guest?
Bid her leave no complainings here;
But mark the tribes of human kind:
Can she no living mourner find?
Then bid her come—and drop a tear.
Poetics | ||