Growing Old
The deep and solemn purple of a summer night of yesterdays when you dared to dream. The rosy twilight of boyhood, filled with memories…
The deep and solemn purple of a summer night
of yesterdays when you dared to dream.
The rosy twilight of boyhood, filled with
memories plucked from wood and field.
Strange laughings, and glittered streamlets
recall the promise of an Indian summer tinged with blue mistiness,
untouched yet by the ruthless spirit of decay,
and softened by the touch of untiring and anxious love.
Unspoiled by praise or blame,
the days pass in stately procession;
and I am older than I used to be,
though younger than I’ll ever be again.