C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Life

LIFE! I know not what thou art,

But know that thou and I must part;

And when or how or where we met,

I own to me’s a secret yet.

But this I know, when thou art fled,

Where’er they lay these limbs, this head,

No clod so valueless shall be,

As all that then remains of me.

O whither, whither dost thou fly,

Where bend unseen thy trackless course,

And in this strange divorce,

Ah, tell where I must seek this compound I?

To the vast ocean of empyreal flame,

From whence thy essence came,

Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed

From matter’s base encumbering weed?

Or dost thou, hid from sight,

Wait, like some spell-bound knight,

Through blank oblivion’s years th’ appointed hour,

To break thy trance and reassume thy power?

Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be?

O say what art thou, when no more thou’rt thee?

Life! we’ve been long together,

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;

’Tis hard to part when friends are dear;

Perhaps ’twill cost a sigh, a tear;

Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time;

Say not good-night, but in some brighter clime

Bid me good-morning.