 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
XC.
[He who to Time will be the slave]
He who to Time will be the slave,
And still will have and still doth crave;
Who by his gold and lands doth sue
For fame and honours not his due:
He only gathers splendid dust;
And mingles sordid rust with rust;
And builds a gorgeous tomb whereon
To write his name: Oblivion.
And still will have and still doth crave;
Who by his gold and lands doth sue
For fame and honours not his due:
He only gathers splendid dust;
And mingles sordid rust with rust;
And builds a gorgeous tomb whereon
To write his name: Oblivion.
Give me the loving heart that lies
Beyond the reach of avarice:
A soul unbounded, thoughts as free
As birds and winds and waves oth' sea.
Such do not rot in gilded show
With trappings of unreal woe;
But when they die a life maintain
In memories of grateful men.
Beyond the reach of avarice:
A soul unbounded, thoughts as free
As birds and winds and waves oth' sea.
93
With trappings of unreal woe;
But when they die a life maintain
In memories of grateful men.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |