I

Death too hath come with Sorrow. Sorrow enough to-day Brings Death with her to-morrow, Unwelcome guest, to stay

With us. If I be sick I know not, care not, and The night is very thick; My tract of toil is sand.

Hated the daily toil; Hated the toil I loved; Daily the worthless soil Sinks back as it is moved.