God's finger touched him, and he slept.
Be near me when my light is low... And all the wheels of being slow.
Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.
Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.
Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die.
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many summer dies the swan. Me only cruel immortality Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world.
Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.
Authority forgets a dying king.
Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.
Every man at time of Death, Would fain set forth some saying that may live After his death and better humankind; For death gives life's last word a power to live, And, lie the stone-cut epitaph, remain After the vanished voice, and speak to men.
The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.
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