Thanatopsis

The flight of years began, have laid them downIn their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.—So shalt thou rest—and what if thou shalt fallUnnoticed by the living—and no friendTake note of thy departure? Thousands moreWill share thy destiny.—The tittering worldDance to the grave. The busy brood of carePlod on, and each one chases as beforeHis favourite phantom.—Yet all these shall leaveTheir mirth and their employments, and shall comeAnd make their bed with thee! ———————