Old Poet, An
Long since his song was broken by weight of toil and tears,
The loveliness unspoken lost in the mist of years.
Is joy his part, or sadness, when now against the skies,
Like notes from a choir of gladness, the new songs soar and rise?
Voices of youth, with dower of dawn and life and mirth,
With that exultant power that lifts the song from earth.
Does he, grown old and tired, grieving, recall that one
Morn when he too aspired to reach the very sun?
Or does he hear, rejoicing, that though his lips are sealed,
These vibrant hearts are voicing his vision unrevealed?
God grant to him is given this joy what time youth sings,
So well assured of heaven, so confident of wings.
The loveliness unspoken lost in the mist of years.
Is joy his part, or sadness, when now against the skies,
Like notes from a choir of gladness, the new songs soar and rise?
Voices of youth, with dower of dawn and life and mirth,
With that exultant power that lifts the song from earth.
Does he, grown old and tired, grieving, recall that one
Morn when he too aspired to reach the very sun?
Or does he hear, rejoicing, that though his lips are sealed,
These vibrant hearts are voicing his vision unrevealed?
God grant to him is given this joy what time youth sings,
So well assured of heaven, so confident of wings.
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