form’d, till the ductile anchor hold, Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
O Living Always, Always Dying
O living always, always dying! O the burials of me past and present, O me while I stride ahead, material, visible, imperious as ever; O me, what I was for years, now dead, (I lament not, I am content;) O to disengage myself from those corpses of me, which I turn and look at where I cast them, To pass on, (O living! always living!) and leave the corpses behind.
To One Shortly to Die
From all the rest I single out you, having a message for you, You are to die—let others tell you what they please, I cannot prevaricate, I am exact