I cannot see what flowers are at my feet
Nor what soft incensehangs upon the boughs37
But in embalmed38 darkness guess each sweet39
Wherewith the seasonable month40 endows
The grass the thicket41 and the fruit-tree wild--
White hawthorn and the pastoral eglantine42;
Fast fading violets43 covered up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child44
The coming musk-rose full of dewy wine
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves45.
Darkling46 I listen; and for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death
Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme47
To take into the air my quiet breath48;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die
To cease upon the midnight with no pain
While thou art pouring49 forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy50!
Still wouldst thou sing and I have ears in vain --
To thy high requiem51 become a sod52.
Thou wast53 not born for death immortal Bird54!
No hungry generations55 treadthee down;
The voice I hear this passing night eas heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown56:
Perhaps57 the self-same58 song that found a path
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