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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO DIE, AND BE FORGOTTEN, by                    
First Line: A few short years will roll along
Last Line: Through endless years to bloom.
Subject(s): Death; Dead, The


A FEW short years will roll along,
With mingled joy and pain,
Then shall I pass -- a broken tone!
An echo of a strain!

Then shall I fade away from life,
Like cloud-tints from the sky,
When the breeze sweeps their surface o'er,
And they are lost for aye.

The soul may look with fervent hope
To worlds of future bliss;
But oh! how saddening to the heart
To be forgot in this!

Who would not brave a life of tears
To win an honour'd name?
One sweet and heart-awakening tone
From the silver trump of fame?

To be, when countless years have pass'd
The good man's glowing theme?
To be -- but I -- what right have I
To this bewildering dream?

Oh, it is vain, and worse than vain,
To dwell on thoughts like these;
I, a frail child, whose feeble frame
Already knows disease!

Who, ere another spring may dawn,
Another summer bloom,
May, like the flowers of autumn, lie
A tenant of the tomb.

Away, away, presumptuous thought,
I will not dwell on thee!
For what, alas! am I to fame,
And what is fame to me?

Let all these wild and longing thoughts
With the dying year expire,
And I will nurse within my breast
A purer, holier fire!

Yes, I will seek my mind to win
From all these dreams of strife,
And toil to write my name within
The glorious book of life.

Then shall old Time, who, rolling on,
Impels me towards the tomb,
Prepare for me a glorious crown,
Through endless years to bloom.





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