A Song of Going I would not like to live to be very old, To be stripped cold and bare Of all my leafage that was green and gold In the delicious air. I would not choose to live to be left alone, The children gone away, And the true love that I have leant upon No more my staff and stay. I would not live to stretch my shrivelled hands To an old fire died low, Minding me of the long-lost happy lands And children long ago. Let me be gone while I am leafy yet And while my birds still sing, Lest leafless, birdless, my dull heart forget That ever it had Spring. |
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