Death, a Poem

DEATH.

Time! O Death! I clasp you in my arms, For I can soothe an infinite cold sorrow, And gaze contented on your icy charms And that wild snow-pile which we call tomorrow. Sweep on, O soft and azure-lidded sky, Earth's waters to your gentle gaze reply, 1 am not earth-born, tho' I here delay; Hope's child, I summon infiniter powers; And laugh to see the mild and sunny day Smile on the shrunk and chill autumnal hours, I laugh, for hope hath happy place with me. If my bark sinks, 'tis to another sea. —Channing.