XVI
O mother! I am not regretting
To leave this wretched world below,
If there be nothing but forgetting
In that dark land to which I go.
Yet though 'tis wretched now to languish,
Deceived and tired and hopeless here,
No heart can quite repress the anguish
Of leaving things that once were dear.
Twice twelve short years and all is over,
And day and night to rise no more,
And never more to be a rover
Along the fields, the woods, the shore.
And never more at early dawning
To watch the stars of midnight wane,
To breathe the breath of summer morning,
And see its sunshine ne'er again.
I hear the abbey bells are ringing;
Methinks their chime sounds faint and drear,
Or else the wind is adverse winging,
And wafts its music from my ear.
The wind the winter night is speaking
Of thoughts and things that should not stay:
Mother, come near, my heart is breaking;
I cannot bear to go away.
