Life In Itself Is Nothing, An Empty

I Am Waylaid By Beauty.

Cut If You Will With Sleep's Dull Knife, The Years From Off Your Life, My Friend! The Years That Death Takes Off My Life, He'll Take From Off The Other End!

I Dread No More The First White In My Hair, Or Even Age Itself, The Easy Shoe, The Cane, The Wrinkled Hands, The Special Chair: Time, Doing This To Me, May Alter Too My Anguish, Into Something I Can Bear

Stranger, Pause And Look; From The Dust Of Ages Lift This Little Book, Turn The Tattered Pages, Read Me, Do Not Let Me Die! Search The Fading Letters Finding Steadfast In The Broken Binding All That Once Was I!

But You, You Foolish Girl, You Have Gone Home To A Leaky Castle Across The Sea To Lie Awake In Linen Smelling Of Lavender, And Hear The Nightingale, And Long For Me.