The Glass

When I am old! Oh Love, who well can say Whether within a year, a month, a day Or six times ten years that dead time shall come When Hope is pale and wan Desire stands dumb, And Love though living, clasps with fingers cold, When we are old.

I think, perhaps, that Boundary’s dim outline Will not be crossed by these swift steps of mine, But while Desire is warm, and Hope still thrills I shall go hence and look from unseen hills On mighty scrolls of centuries unrolled, I still not old.

To Be: unpierced by Vision. Break the Glass! But if fourscore and ten my years should pass, Witness, dear eyes! Mine, looking back, shall see Towers of strength, and Peaceful Seas, and Thee, And Love, a fragrant cerement, my heart shall fold When I am old.

THREE DAYS MORE....

Not love’s command Could dry one league of sea; Or even God’s hand Fold up one mile of land, To bring you sooner unto me!

There are but three more days to climb-- To-day, to-morrow, and its mate, Till that day!... Did love know to wait Would it be love? Not in my time Or in my blood! My thought, elate, Swells like a rising sea to flood Covering barren days between And brings you (as love should) Till you stand there--my lord, my light, my good!... Ere the frail screen Of fancy falls to my embrace Sudden, the spell snaps short to Fate! Till that day--when I see your face-- There are still three dark days to climb, To-day, to-morrow, and its mate.