The bubble
why should I stay? Nor seed nor fruit have I.
  But, sprung at once to beauty’s perfect round,
  Nor loss, nor gain, nor change in me is found,—
A life—complete in death—complete to die.

BECALMED
THE BAR is crossed; but Death—the pilot—stands
  In seeming doubt before the tranquil deep;
The fathom-line still trembling...