Oh! Death Will Find Me, Long Before I Tire [bad word] Brooke
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.