I'M young, and it is early to leave the world behind,
But my eyes are waxing dim, and I feel I shall be blind;
Last summer I could count you laburnum's golden show'r,
But now I scarce can see there is a tree in flow'r.

I must put aside my wheel, my work unfinish'd lies,
Except the plaited straws which I plait without my eyes;
I sit and feel them passing through my fingers all in gloom,
Long, long before the twilight has darken'd in the room.

When I am blind, my mother, O do not me forsake;
I shall need a hand to guide me, a hand that I may take;
The world with me went gaily, but now I lag behind
The glad, the free, the busy--for I am going blind.