They bring me gifts, they honour me Now I am growing old; And wondering youth crowds round my knee, As if I had a mystery And worship to unfold. To me the tender, blushing bride Doth come with lips that fail; I feel her heart beat at my side And cry: "Like Ares in his pride, Hail, noble bridegroom, hail!' And to the doubting boy, afraid Of too ambitious bliss, I whisper: "None is like thy maid, And I her fond heart will persuade To feel thou feeleśt this." Or if Persephone should take From me some maid full dear, While friends their lamentations make, I rise, and for the lover's sake I praise her loud and clear. Ye bring me gifts, ye honour me For music and for rhyme; And if at last my jsings free, It is that once I Stood, as ye, Dumb in youth's golden clime. |