Classic Poem

With falcon-wings have flown the two score years
Since here I trod the heights, yet now I gaze
Entranced, for that blue loveliness betrays
No age,—like some perpetual Bride who bears
Unfading wreaths of bloom, it yearly wears
Fresh garlands woven of cerulean haze;
These dreamy hills, well loved in happier days,
Seem even lovelier as my twilight nears.
Tense life hath taken her relentless toll,
For to myself I turn, and see the truth
Furrowed upon my brow, and in the soul
Deep scars; corrosive time hath wrought the change;
And yet yon blue, insensate, mountain-range
Defies mutation with perennial youth.