There in the flame of the open grate, All that is good in the past I see: Red-lipped youth on the swinging gate, Bright-eyed youth with its minstrelsy; Girls and boys that I used to know, Back in the days of Long Ago, Troop before in the smoke and flame, Chatter and sing, as the wild birds do. Everyone I can call by name, For the fire builds all of my youth anew. Outside, people go stamping by, Squeak of wheel on the evening air, Stars and planets race through the sky, Here are darkness and silence rare; Only the flames in the open grate Crackle and flare as they burn up hate, Malice and envy and greed for gold, Dancing, laughing my cares away; I've forgotten that I am old, Once again I'm a boy at play. There in the flame of the open grate Bright the pictures come and go; Lovers swing on the garden gate, Lovers kiss 'neath the mistletoe. I've forgotten that I am old, I've forgotten my story's told; Whistling boy down the lane I stroll, All untouched by the blows of fate, Time turns back and I'm young of soul, Dreaming there by the open grate. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EARTH-CHILD IN THE GRASS by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SONG OF THE WAVE by ROBERT FROST ON A TUFT OF GRASS by EMMA LAZARUS SONNET: ADDRESSED TO HAYDON (2) by JOHN KEATS HEALTHFUL OLD AGE, FR. AS YOU LIKE IT by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE A DESCRIPTION OF SUCH A ONE AS HE WOULD LOVE by THOMAS WYATT |