Sttr

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;
My friends forsake me like a memory lost:
I am the self-consumer of my woes—
They rise and vanish in oblivious host
And yet I am, and live—like vapours host

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise
Into the living sea of waking dreams
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest that I loved the bеst
They are strange
Thеy are strange
Nay, just stranger than the rest
Nay, just stranger than the rest
Nay, just stranger than the rest

I long for scenes where no man has never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky
The grass below—above the vaulted sky

I am—yet what I am none cares or know