And
standing, muffled round with woe,
Should see thy passengers in rank
Come stepping lightly down the plank,
And
beckoning unto those they know;
And
if along with these should come
The man I held as half-divine;
Should strike a sudden hand in mine,
And
ask a thousand things of home;
And
I should tell him all my pain,
And how my life had droop’d of late,
And he should sorrow o’er my state
And
marvel what possess’d my brain;
And
I perceived no touch of change,
No hint of death in all his frame,
But found him all in all the same,
I
should not feel it to be strange.