A Wish

I do but ask a little time of peace
Before the end of all. I crave no bliss;
I crave no love, nor fame; but only this, —
On summer days to bask beneath old trees,
Or half asleep to lie by gentle seas.
Hearing the waves that whisper ere they kiss,
Then break and babble; or, when twilight is,
And one by one the birds from singing cease,

Wander the patient, tranquil hills among.
And languish in an exquisite regret.
And hear a sad but not discordant song
Possess the air; and when the sun is set,
Lie down with thankfulness to know, ere long.
All things that ever were I shall forget.