I wish I was by that dim lake, Where sinful souls their farewells take Of this vain world, and half-way lie In Death’s cold shadow, ere they die. There, there, far from thee, Deceitful world, my home should be – Where, come what might of gloom and pain, False hope should ne’er deceive again!
The lifeless sky, the mournful sound Of unseen waters, falling round – The dry leaves quivering o’er my head, Like man, unquiet even when dead – These – ay – these should wean My soul from Life’s deluding scene, And turn each thought, each wish I have, Like willows, downward towards the grave.
As they who to their couch at night Would welcome sleep, first quench the light, So must the hopes that keep this breast Awake, be quenched, ere it can rest. Cold, cold, my heart must grow, Unchanged by either joy or woe, Like freezing founts, where all that’s thrown Within their current turns to stone.
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