Sonnet 3

When my brave clock has struck its final chime

And my long day has sunken into night.

When I'm no longer young and in my prime

And sad eyes can no more receive the light.

When zephyrs breathe no more against the trees

Whose branches sheltered well the singing bird

And winter's chill has frosted fallen leaves

While low the cheerful trill is no more heard.

Though when my youthful breath I do forsake

As to the end my time begins to flow

Since my poor heart with pause begins to quake

And fear of the unknown begins to grow.

When Time's dread scythe is raised to cut life's sheaf

I bravely leave this world without death's grief.