Page:The West Indies, and Other Poems.djvu/133
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121
Close follow'd age, infirm old age,
The winter of my year;
When shall I fall before his rage,
To rise beyond the sphere!
The winter of my year;
When shall I fall before his rage,
To rise beyond the sphere!
I long to cast the chains away,
That hold my soul a slave,
To burst these dungeon-walls of clay,
Enfranchised from the grave.
That hold my soul a slave,
To burst these dungeon-walls of clay,
Enfranchised from the grave.
Life lies in embryo,—never free
Till Nature yields her breath;
Till Time becomes Eternity,
And Man is born in Death.
Till Nature yields her breath;
Till Time becomes Eternity,
And Man is born in Death.