That time had ceased to register his years;
His step was firm, his eye, though faded, mild,
And childhood's sweet expression on his face.
The prince stopped short before him, bending low,
And gently asked: "What would my father have?
Speak freely--what I can, I freely give."
"Most noble prince, I need no charity,
For my kind neighbors give me all unasked,
And my poor cottage where my fathers dwelt,
And where my children and their mother died,
Is kept as clean as when sweet Gunga lived;
And young and old cheer up my lonely hours,
And ask me much of other times and men.
For when your father's father was a child,
I was a man, as young and strong as you,
And my sweet Gunga your companion's age.
But O the mystery of life explain!
Why are we born to tread this little round,
To live, to love, to suffer, sorrow, die?
Why do the young like field-flowers bloom to fade?
Why are the strong like the mown grass cut down?
Why am I left as if by death forgot,
Left here alone, a leafless, fruitless trunk?
Is death the end, or what comes after death?
Often when deepest sleep shuts out the world,
The dead still seem to live, while life fades out;
And when I sit alone and long for light
The veil seems lifted, and I seem to see
A world of life and light and peace and rest,
No sickness, sin or sorrow, pain or death,