Alace for that spring time that's past and gone!
He looks askance, and sees young eyes that lour
On him, so comely once, unsightly grown:
The faded roses make a scented bower,
But aged man seems spurned by man alone.

Yet happy he who, changing with advance,
Has bright and golden hopes beyond the sun;
He can give back their saucy, pitying glance,
Who set such wondrous price their youth upon.
_Their_ night will come in turn, yea, comes apace,
Without, mayhap, the hope of brighter day,
When age-worn looks will don their native grace,
And feel no more this world's despised decay.


III.

That aged pair sat down upon the green,
While each the other helped to softest seat,
I watched their ways, myself by them unseen,
And heard their quivering words, so kindly sweet,
As still of golden days when they were young,
Of youth's green summer time they spoke and wept,
And soft in wailing song there came along
These words, which I in memory long have kept:


THE SONG OF AGE.[A]