POEM: FROM THE PORTUGUESE

WHEN I lived in the village of youth There were lilies in all the orchards, Flowers in the orange-gardens For brides to wear in their hair. It was always sunshine and summer, Roses at every lattice, Dreams in the eyes of maidens, Love in the eyes of men.

When I lived in the village of youth The doors, all the doors, stood open; We went in and out of them laughing, Laughing and calling each other To shew each other our fairings, The new shawl, the new comb, the new fan, The new rose, the new lover.

Now I live in the town of age Where are no orchards, no gardens. Here, too, all the doors stand open, But no one goes in or goes out. We sit alone by the hearthstone Where memories lie like ashes Upon a hearth that is cold;

And they from the village of youth Run by our doorsteps laughing, Calling, to shew each other The new shawl, the new comb, the new fan, The new rose, the new lover.

Once we had all these things— We kept them from the old people, And now the young people have them And will not shew them to us— To us who are old and have nothing But the white, still, heaped-up ashes On the hearth where the fire went out A very long time ago.