1 1 4 IValks in New England 



And the thought of death close-walking the other side 



of me, 

 And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding 



the hands of companions, 



I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not, 

 Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp 



in the dimness, 



To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still. 

 And the singer so shy to the rest received me 

 The gray-brown bird I know received us comrades 



three, 

 And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I 



love. 



From deep secluded recesses, 



From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still, 



Came the carol of the bird : 



Come, lovely and soothing death, 

 Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, 

 In the day, in the night, to all, to each, 

 Sooner or later, delicate death. 



Praised be the fathomless universe 



For life and joy and for objects and knowledge curious, 

 And for love, sweet love, but praise ! praise ! praise ! 

 For the sure-enwinding of cool-enfolding death. 



Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, 

 Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome ? 

 Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, 

 I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, 

 come unfalteringly. 



