IF I might save from out the wreck of years
Some loveliest moment to eternalise,
I would not seek it where the fervid eyes
Of passion long ago were dulled with tears.
Nay, liefer I would look where nature nears
The cloudy confines of her mysteries,
Where Sleep prepares his balmy ministries,
And almost so his brother Death endears.

Yes, I would lie and drowse as in my bed—
A four-years' child—with, through the open door,
The nurses' voices, merry in my stead,
And sounds of music wafted through the floor;
Such idling best contents my wearihead
To-night; to-morrow I may ask for more.