Poetry Archives

When I blink sunshine in my eyes
      And hail the amber morn,
Before the rosy dew-drop dries
      With sparkle on the thorn;
When boughs with robin rapture ring,
      And bees hum in the may,—
Then call me young, with heart of Spring,
              Though I be grey.

But when no more I know the joy
      And urgence of that hour,
As like a happy-hearted boy
      I leap to land aflower;
When gusto I no longer feel,
      To rouse with glad hooray,—
Then call me old and let me steal
              From men away.

Let me awaken with a smile
      And go to garden glee,
For there is such a little while
      Of living left to me;
But when star-wist I frail away,
      Lord, let the hope beguile
That to Ecstatic Light I may
              Awake to smile.