 | The lion's cub |  |
GOOD-NIGHT.
I said to Fate, Let be,Since I have done with thee,
Or heap upon my head
The ashes of the dead,
And huddle out of sight
The thing that once was me.
For when his head is white,
And he is poor and old,
'Tis time his grave was made;
Fetch mattock, then, and spade,
And let the bell be tolled.
And so, Sweet Fool, Good-night!
| The lion's cub | |