They all are dead but Barnabas; he’ll wait,

With his old groping hands and haggard eyes,

Which nothing in the world can now surprise,

Till the last leaf whirls thro’ the clanging gate

Of the last sunrise. Did he learn too late?

Maybe, that one may hear the moans and cries

That ring by night, and yet be calm and wise.

And teach the women how a man can hate!

I did not think a soul could live so long,

And be so little. He remembers youth

With a wry smile of disbelief; the wrong

Was this, he squeezed the fruit so dry

So long ago; and now must live, forsooth

Because a woman will not let him die.