Age, thou the loss of health and friends shalt mourn!
But thou art passing to that night-still bourne,
Where labour sleeps. The linnet, chattering loud
To the May morn, shall sing; thou, in thy shroud,
Forgetful and forgotten, sink to rest;
And grass-green be the sod upon thy breast!
More verses by William Lisle Bowles
- At Tynemouth Priory
- Avenue In Savernake Forest
- On Leaving A Village In Scotland
- Abba Thule's Lament For His Son Prince Le Boo
- Languid, And Sad, And Slow, From Day To Day