Nosgoth

Last Land

Nosgoth


Oh! Death will find me, long before I tire 
Of watching you; and swing me suddenly 
Into the shade and loneliness and mire 
Of the last land! There, waiting patiently, 

One day, I think, I'll feel a cool wind blowing, 
See a slow light across the Stygian tide, 
And hear the Dead about me stir, unknowing, 
And tremble. And I shall know that you have died, 

And watch you, a broad-browed and smiling dream, 
Pass, light as ever, through the lightless host, 
Quietly ponder, start, and sway, and gleam 
Most individual and bewildering ghost! 

And turn, and toss your brown delightful head 
Amusedly, among the ancient Dead.