In far-off years, a child, I used to pray
 That death the self-same day
Might fall upon us both, my mother and me;
 God, hast thou answered,—see!

Here am I in my power of manhood,—strong,
 Alas!—I may live long:—
I may live years and years and years alone,
 A suppliant at death's throne.

Shall I live years and years, and never see,
 Mother, the face of thee?
See death call shuddering nations forth to die,
 Yet, doing so, pass me by?

Shall I see day give place to starlit night,
 Yet miss my one star's light?
Miss, when spring's cowslips load with scent the breeze
 One flower more sweet than these?