TO A FRIEND, INQUIRING IF I WOULD LIVE OVER MY YOUTH AGAIN. 1. Do I regret the past? The morning hours of life? Nay, William! nay, not so! In the warm joyance of the summer sun The changeful April day. Praise be to Him who made me what I am, 2. Why is it pleasant then to sit and talk Of days that are no more? The traveller rests at last, And tells how often in his wanderings Nor to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul, The form that once was dear! Earth, air, and water's ministering particles Resolved, their uses done. Not to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul, Follow thy friend beloved, The spirit is not there! |