Half of my life is gone, and I have left
The years slipped from me and have not fulfilled
The aspiration of my youth, to build
Some tower of song with lofty parapet.
Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor the fret
Of restless passions that would not be stilled,
But sorrow and a care that almost killed,
Kept me from what I may accomplish yet;
Though half-way up the hill, I see the Past
Lying beneath me with its sounds and sights,-
A city in the twilight dim and vast,
With smoking roofs, soft bells, and gleaming lights,-
And hear above me on the autumnal blast
The cataract of Death far thundering from the heights.