Birth And Death.

I who have known thee, Birth, must know Death too: As old, old men their children's children fold In their gaunt arms, and though their blood be cold Feel their own youth burn in them as they view The features that were theirs — each sign so true To their own breath and blood, 'tis as retold Their very youth was, when they are so old, By those who nothing of their childhood knew. So even Death but a new birth may be, And in some other star beyond to-day, When we have put the use of Earth away, E'en like those old men's children's children we May see ourselves rise from our own decay, The very offspring of our verity.