A Poem

Robert Southey. 1774–1843

His Books

MY days among the Dead are past;
Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old:

My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.
With them I take delight in weal
And seek relief in woe;

And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,
My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the Dead; with them
I live in long-past years,
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears;

And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.
My hopes are with the Dead; anon
My place with them will be,

And I with them shall travel on
Through all Futurity;
Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.