Stephen Foster was just 37 when he died. It is astounding how much pain and despair can be packed into such short years.

I also like the song (Who wrote it? I learned it from Suzanne Thomas):

In a room in New York City
in 1862
Lived a man, a broken pauper,
though his words the whole world knew

He wrote songs about the Swanee
and the old Kentucky home
He knew hard times a-plenty
'Til he died all alone

       Dear friends and gentle hearts
       Though our time is much too short
       In these songs we'll never part
       So fare thee well, where'er you are
       Dear friends and gentle hearts

A few coins in his pocket
Was all he left behind
And a scrap of tattered paper
With five words of broken rhyme
Just five words of broken rhyme...

I believe I have read that he was found dead in his flophouse room after having hit his head on the edge of a counter.