Pale Death, of thy sole self how art thou fair!
Fair when thou lightest on some half-blown flower,
Fair when thou comest at life's final hour,
Calm even in the noontide heat and glare,
Yea, and more kingly-proud beyond compare
When thou hast overthrown, whole as a tower,
Some lusty toiler in his day of power,
And from his seething brow uncoiled the care.

Not death but change, the shadow of Death, that creeps
And closes on us, causes our dismay;
The spoiler of our hope who neither sleeps
Nor rests, continuing 'never in one stay;'
The wanton thief who while he nothing keeps,
Filches the sunshine from the youngest day.