Ii

Old man with the pale blue eyes, Mild and clear! Why, as thou dost fare, With that pondering air Into passing faces dost thou peer? Why dost pause, where dim like autumn skies Starry asters grow? Why gazest thou O’er the round hill’s brow?

“Ah, from each gray-bearded face Would I know What that heart hath found; And in youths that bound See a youth who vanished long ago! In each flower a memory can I trace; O’er the hill the green, still place may be That doth wait for me!”