Oh! Death Will Find Me Long Before

Fish Say, They Have Their Stream And Pond; But Is There Anything Beyond?

The Worst Of Slaves Is He Whom Passion Rules.

They Say That The Dead Die Not, But Remain Near To The Rich Heirs Of Their Grief And Mirth. I Think They Ride The Calm Mid-heaven, As These, In Wise Majestic Melancholy Train, And Watch The Moon, And The Still-raging Seas, And Men, Coming And Going On The Earth.

Oh! Death Will Find Me, Long Before I Tire Of Watching For You; And Swing Me Suddenly Into The Shade And Loneliness And Mire Of The Last Land!

But Somewhere, Beyond Space And Time, Is Wetter Water, Slimier Slime! And There (they Trust) There Swimmeth One Who Swam Ere Rivers Were Begun, Immense Of Fishy Form And Mind, Squamous Omnipotent, And Kind.