Sonnet: Oh! Death will find me, long before I tire

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.