XII
How dare the robins sing,When men and women hearWho since they went to their accountHave settled with the year!—Paid all that life had earnedIn one consummate bill,And now, what life or death can doIs immaterial.Insulting is the sunTo him whose mortal light,Beguiled of immortality,Bequeaths him to the night.In deference to himExtinct be every hum,Whose garden wrestles with the dew,At daybreak overcome!