I wish my little life had been
In concert with each lowly thing,
To wander where the fields are green
And beating with the pulse of spring.
To feel the summer send its blood
Through all the earth, until my own
Took newer life, and, like a bud,
Burst into blossom fully blown.
To watch the dying of each year,
Not as we sit by dying men,
But knowing winter dull and drear
Would pass, and after life again
To walk through all the changing round
Of seasons till my winter came,
And I had reached the utmost bound
Of life, then sink, as sinks a flame.
And rest within some quiet place,
Where all day long, from day to day,
The seasons as they came would trace
Their certain changes where I lay.