Poem#Death
On His Eightieth Birthday
Poem byWalter Savage Landor · 1775–1864
Commonly attributed — not confirmed in an authoritative edition. Text from PoetryDB's public-domain archive; not yet checked against a printed edition.
English (original)
To my ninth decade I have tottered on, And no soft arm bends now my steps to steady; She, who once led me where she would, is gone, So when he calls me, Death shall find me ready.
— Walter Savage Landor
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