  AGE. With golden spicÈd dreams blows in the dawn, About the cool blue bosom of the lake; Far over wave and shore wild voices wake, The watery curves and windy reeds upon, Where the young glory of the day dreams on; And wingÈd creatures haunts of sleep forsake, And dreams and silence their dim ways betake Round the grey edge where lidded night hath gone. Here all is young and glad, the laughing shore The sunshine, the glad birds, no memories On haggard faces wistful to forget; Save yon old man beside the rude hut door, With palsied hands, chin bending to his knees, Mending dead youth in meshes of a net. |
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