When slattern Time, worn out with toil of wearing,

With loose‑tied pack shall trudge upon my years,

And I shall feel that forced occasion nearing

That despair's self (that must live to be) fears,

I, being beggared of all wealth of hope -

So prodigal have I to wishes been -

Shall with known uselessness for the coin grope

To pay that the hour’s ending be serene.

I shall not enter the great silent cave

With curious ardour, or ease out of sun,

But all that with me I shall then still have

Will be a coward rage that all is done.

No hope the cave's a passage shall control

Fear of the immediate night of the shown hole.