When I am old, and think of the old days, And warm my hands before a little blaze, Having forgotten love, hope, fear, desire, I shall see, smiling out of the pale fire, One face, mysterious and exquisite; And I shall gaze, and ponder over it, Wondering, was it Leonardo wrought That stealthy ardency, where passionate thought Burns inward, a revealing flame, and glows To the last ecstasy, which is repose? Was it Bronzino, those Borghese eyes? And, musing thus among my memories, O unforgotten! you will come to seem, As pictures do, remembered, some old dream. And I shall think of you as something strange. And beautiful, and full of helpless change, Which I beheld and carried in my heart; But you, I loved, will have become a part Of the eternal mystery, and love Like a dim pain; and I shall bend above My little fire, and shiver, being cold, When you are no more young, and I am old. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE STREET CORNER COLLEGE by KENNETH PATCHEN HEAVEN by NANCY WOODBURY PRIEST SAINT BRIDE'S LULLABY by WILLIAM SHARP PHRYGES: JUSTICE PROTECTS THE KING by AESCHYLUS FEAR AND LOVE by EGMONT HEGEL ARENS |