Forsaken

Would God that I were dead and no more known, —
Forgotten underneath the deep cold main,
Freed from the thrill of joy and sting of pain!
There I should be with silence all alone,
To weep no more for any sweet day flown:
I should not see the shining summer wane,
Nor feel the blasting winter come again,
Nor hear the autumn winds grow strong and moan;

But time, like sea-mist screening the far deep,
Should make each hated and loved object dim,
And I should gaze on both with hazy sight;
God granting this, I should no longer weep,
But, wearied, rest beneath the clear green light,
And surely lose in sleep all thoughts of him!