The Tenant-For-Life
The sun said, watching my watering-pot“Some morn you’ll pass away;These flowers and plants I parch up hot—Who’ll water them that day?
“Those banks and beds whose shape your eyeHas planned in line so true,New hands will change, unreasoning whySuch shape seemed best to you.
“Within your house will strangers sit,And wonder how first it came;They’ll talk of their schemes for improving it,And will not mention your name.
“They’ll care not how, or when, or at whatYou sighed, laughed, suffered here,Though you feel more in an hour of the spotThan they will feel in a year
“As I look on at you here, now,Shall I look on at these;But as to our old times, avowNo knowledge—hold my peace! . . .
“O friend, it matters not, I say;Bethink ye, I have shinedOn nobler ones than you, and theyAre dead men out of mind!”
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