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MY WORK is finished that has been to me My only solace for this many a day. But whether it in other company May so beguile the time and hue the ray Of loneliness and thought, I dare not say; Nor whether with the future it shall be A thing of note, nor whether presently ’Tis doomed to waste like a thin mist away. Yet whatsoever be its worldly lot, I know that, hive-like, it with love is stored, And that through all its pages I have not Written one wilfully misleading word, Or traced one feeling that my heart ignored— One line that truth has counselled me to blot. |