This Life is a fleeting breath, And whither and how shall I go, When I wander away with Death By a path that I do not know? - Louise Chandler Moulton

I hied me off to Arcady— The month it was the month of May, And all along the pleasant way
The morning birds were mad with glee,
And all the flowers sprang up to see,
As I went on to Arcady.

I dwell no more in Arcady:—
But when the sky is blue with May,
And flowers spring up along the way,
And birds are blithe, and winds are free,
I know what message is for me,—
Fotr I have been in Arcady.

There is rust upon locks and hinges,
And mold and blight on the walls,
And silence faints in the chambers,
And darkness waits in the halls.