I too shall meet oblivion,
Upon a lazy afternoon
Or midnight when there is no one,
Caressing hand to call me back,
To bid me stay a little while—
It has to come, that last attack,
My exit made, in unknown style.
The tasks remaining I would do
A world of time would not suffice
To execute, enact, but rue
For undone acts would not be nice.
The bitter end, or end of sweetness—
Either extreme it will be done,
And I lament perhaps life’s fleetness
But fear not death’s oblivion.