His Books

By Robert Southey


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.

DayPoems Poem No. 508
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/508.html">His Books by Robert Southey</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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