By the Fireside. Suspiria

TAKE them, O Death! and bear away

Whatever thou canst call thine own!

Thine image, stamped upon this clay,

Doth give thee that, but that alone!

Take them, O Grave! and let them lie

Folded upon thy narrow shelves,

As garments by the soul laid by,

And precious only to ourselves!

Take them, O great Eternity!

Our little life is but a gust

That bends the branches of thy tree,

And trails its blossoms in the dust!