400 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
Alas, thou wilt not stay thy flight For Wise, or Fair, or Just !
Is day less dear to thee than night, Or thought than senseless dust ?
life's answer,
'Tis true, my child, I seem to fly. Yet cease thy tears to shed,
Nor falsely deem thy dear ones die Because thou seest them dead.
Through myriad paths my way I take, And, as my course I keep,
All things are doomed awhile to wake, Awhile to fall asleep.
I thread my way through running stream
I laugh in waving trees ; I sport in every sunny beam ;
I murmur in the breeze ;
I roam the earth, I ride the air,
I swim in ocean's wave. And ever in a form more fair
Come mounting from my grave.
All shapes of ocean, air, and earth.
Alternate must decay ; They perish to renew their birth, —
Thou sayest, " They fade away."
Yet, when from worn and languid hearts
The unwilling spirit flies. It is not I>ife with life that parts —
'Tis only Death that dies.
�� �
