Death

Who art thou,
Who tracketh 'pon the path o' me-
O' each turn, aye, and track?
Thou! And thou astand!
And o'er thy face a cloud,
Aye, a darked and somber cloud!
Who art thou,
Thou tracker 'mid the day's bright,
And 'mid the night's deep;
E'en when I be astopped o' track?
Who art thou,
That toucheth o' the flesh o' me,
And sendeth chill unto the heart o' me?
Aye, and who art thou,
Who putteth forth thy hand
And setteth at alow the hopes o' me?
Aye, who art thou,
Who bideth ever 'mid a dream?
Aye, and that the soul o' me
.Doth shrink at know?
Who art thou? Who art thou,
Who steppeth ever to my day,
And blotteth o' the sun away?
Who art thou,
Who stepped to Earth at birth o' me,
And e'en 'mid wail o' weak,
Aye, at the birth o' wail,
Did set a chill 'pon infant flesh;
And at the track o' man 'pon Earth
Doth follow ever, and at height
Afollow, and doth touch,
And all doth crumble to a naught.
Thou! Thou! Who art thou?
Ever do I to ask, and ever wish
To see the face o' thee,
And neer, ne'er do I to know thee-
Thou, the Traveler 'pon the path o' me,
And, Brother, thou dost give
That which world doth hold
From see o' me!
Stand thou! Stand thou!
And draw thy cloak from o'er thy face!
Ever hath the dread o' thee
Clutched at the heart o' me.
Aye, and at the end o' journey,
I beseech thee,
Cast thy cloak and show thee me!
Aye, show thee me!
Ah, thou art the gift o' Him!
The Key to There! The Love o' Earth!
Aye, and Hate hath made o' man
To know thee not-
Thou! Thou! O Death!