If Many Years Should Dim My Inward Sight, Till, Stirred With No Emotion, I Might Stand Gazing At The Fall Of Night Across The Gloaming Ocean; Till Storm, And Sun, And Night, Vast With Her Stars, Would Seem An Oft-Told Story, And The Old Sorrow Of Heroic Wars Be Faded Of Its Glory; Till, Hearing, While June'S Roses Blew Their Musk, The Noise Of Field And City, The Human Struggle, Sinking Tired At Dusk, I Felt No Thrill Of Pity; Till Dawn Should Come Without Her Old Desire, And Day Brood O'Er Her Stages,-- O Let Me Die, Too Frail For Nature'S Hire, And Rest A Million Ages.