When I have fears that I may cease to die,
After all my mind has given to my pen,
No worldly wonders left there to defy;
No answers to the mysteries within.
What worry it would be on how I fared,
For surely it’s a lowly life to live,
To think that this is all that chance had spared;
To know that this is all I had to give.
And when I feel, foul bitterness of years,
That I shall have to bear these with a smile,
I simply bite my tongue and fight my tears;
The raging rivers, hidden in my guile.
On the wide world I stand with sums untold,
For love and fame is all I have to hold.