A Song For Old Age

Now nights grow cold and colder, And north the wild vane swings, And round each tree and boulder The driving snow-storm sings-- Come, make my old heart older, O memory of lost things!

Of Hope, when promise sung her Brave songs, and I was young, That banquets now on hunger Since all youth’s songs are sung; Of Love, who walks with younger Sweethearts the flowers among.

Ah, well! while Life holds levee, Death’s ceaseless dance goes on. So let the curtains, heavy About my couch, be drawn-- The curtains, dark and heavy, Where all shall sleep anon.