| | Verse, that Breeze mid blossoms straying
Where Hope clings feeding like a Bee.
Both were mine: Life went a Maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young.
When I was young! ah woeful When!
Ah for the Change twixt now and then!
This House of Life, not built with hands
Where now I sigh, where once I sung. |
| Or | [This snail-like House, not built with hands,
This Body that does me grievous wrong.] |
| | O'er Hill and dale and sounding Sands.
How lightly then it flash'd along—
Like those trim Boats, unknown of yore,
On Winding Lakes and Rivers wide,
That ask no aid of Sail or Oar,
That fear no spite of Wind or Tide. |
| Pencil | | Nought car'd this Body for wind or weather,
When youth and I liv'd in't together. |
