  Such days as break the wild bird's heart; Such days as kill it and its songs; A death which knows a sweeter part Of days to which such death belongs. And now old eyes are filled with tears, As with the rain the frozen flowers; Time moves so slowly one but fears The burthen on his wasted powers. And so he stopped;—and thou art dead! And that is found which once was feared:— A farewell to thy gray, gray head, A goodnight to thy goodly beard! |
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