I Died This Year Though Still I Glimpse the Sun

I DIED this year though still I glimpse the sun;
For watching month by month lives frail and old
Dwindle and dim and lapse into the cold,
With neither joy nor sorrow to have done,
I too have come to think the thoughts of one
Whom no ties bind and no regrets can hold,
Who has felt the ultimate change, and so must fold
Hands void of haste and feet forgot to run.
Yet Death rends not in twain the veil of things;
So, Lazarus-like, I watch the sunlight fall
On children at their play, breathe deep the spring’s
Shy incenses, and hear the thrushes call,
Finding them every one, — hearts, petals, wings —
Curious, lovely, immaterial.