I have outlived my life, and linger on, <br />Knowing myself the ghost of one that was. <br />Come, kindly death, and let my flesh (being grass) <br />Nourish some beast's sad life when I am gone. <br />What joy is left in all I look upon? <br />I cannot sin, it wearies me. Alas! <br />I loathe the laggard moments as they pass; <br />I tire of all but swift oblivion. <br /> <br />Yet, if all power to taste the dear deceit <br />Be not outworn and perished utterly; <br />If it could be, then surely it were sweet-- <br />I go down on my knees and pray: O God, <br />Send me some last illusion, ere I be <br />A clod--perhaps at rest--within a clod.<br /><br />Arthur Symons<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/satiety-4/
