Robert W. Service
And when I come to the dim trail—end,
I who have been Life’s rover,
This is all I would ask, my friend,
Over and over and over:
 
A little space on a stony hill
With never another near me,
Sky o’ the North that’s vast and still,
With a single star to cheer me;
 
Star that gleams on a moss—grey stone
Graven by those who love me—
There would I lie alone, alone,
With a single pine above me;
 
Pine that the north wind whinneys through—
Oh, I have been Life’s lover!
But there I’d lie and listen to
Eternity passing over.
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