When You Are Old
When you are old, and your flowing hair
glows silver in the twilight,
and in the evening you prepare to sleep
unto darker sleep and night,
hold close this fragment to your heart,
recite the words aloud;
remember one who saw your face
rise sun-like from the crowd;
and know that as this little world
turns to mist and falls away
that nonetheless your shining path
grows brighter towards the day.
When you are old, and your gentle eye
turns shy and hides from light,
read again these faded words
from your days of force and fight.
Call to mind how I did once
see more in you than clay,
a gem that glows with truth's own fire
though the dust washes away;
and when its light no more to sight
is brought, through tiredness and care,
from oblivion rescue then these words:
the light will still be there.
When you are old, and your arm is weak,
and you sadly face the grave,
this poem and these words I write
from forgetting then still save;
they are prophetic words, and heavy laid
with the burden of the Lord
and will not fade when the bright bowl breaks
at the snapping of silver cord:
You were a marvel, a wonder once,
and a wonder yet you'll be,
though fire consume the works of man
and the stars drown in the sea!
