“Still No Ease”
Still no ease is welcome from the poisonous fount;
As grey to black as drifts decay, and still so still
The heart. Notwithstanding. The constant chill
Reminds him duly: count
The days. He has no other thing to do.
And if he leaves or if he stays
No one notes the difference! No gleaming clue
From greener days, no sweet delay
To think on what must surely come
Between the present and what defies
His every word, what devoutly flies
To any place but here. If it were, he’ll run,
He’ll walk, he’ll rehearse as all his thanes forgather,.
Flown yes! but that he lives is all that really matters.