Poems (Argent)/Growing Old
For works with similar titles, see Growing Old.
GROWING OLD.
THE autumn of the year is here And through the windy wold,A voice is going forth that says, "The year is growing old."But yet on high a sweet bird sings,And to the heart some solace brings.
No more the tender leaves of May Move trembling in the breeze,For clad in russet-brown and gold Stand forth the forest trees.Yet from the earth late violets riseColoured like hope in children's eyes.
The warm breath of the summer morn, Its level falls of light,Come now no more o'er meadow grass Once starred with daisies bright,Yet on the holly-bough there growsBerries as dear as summer rose.
The first fresh radiance of the spring, The beauty of its noonWhich sets in autumn, seems too fair To fade and die so soon.Yet underneath the dark moist earthThe buds are waiting second birth,
Not very far old Winter stands In garments grim and grey,With hoary locks and sceptre dim Of ice which wields his sway,Yet bursting from his chilly snowsHe brings a gift, the Christmas rose!
And kindly is the phantom smile That flickers o'er his face,His heart is full of kindly warmth, His welcome breathes in grace,Doth he not open wide the doorOf human hearts in rich and poor?
My joyous spring of youth is past, Its wealth of sunny hoursAre gone for ever! they have died, As die the spring's dear flowers,Yet in God's sky the stars still shine,The stars of love, and they are mine.
The fuller life of summer, too, Has passed away and fled, Into the tract of Time's wide sea, The sea that holds the dead,Yet o'er me still the same sun gleams,And keeps for me my summer dreams.
And now the autumn of my life, Its tranquillising light,Is round me, but I do not fear The dark that brings the night:For fairer than the silver rayOf yonder moon is promised Day!