Verses from Maoriland/Death, in Youth

Death, thou art cruel! Take the weak, and old,
The worn, and weary! Clasp them to thy breast,
That they may find an everlasting rest,
And thee no ghoul, no spectre grim and cold.
But take not us! our Spring hath but unrolled
Her tender blossoms, and to us the zest
Of Youth, and Love, and Living still are best,
And we would see our Summer’s green and gold.

Ah! who could wish to leave this pleasant earth,
And all she yields of sound, and sense, and sight,
With books, and friends, and all the simple mirth,
And beauty, and divinest melody,
To enter worlds unknown of mist, and night,
The home of doubt, and gloom, and mystery?