 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
XXIII. THE OLD AGE OF MILTON.
I knew him. Blind and pale, but undepressed,He sat beneath his hovel's silent shade,
Sternly quiescent. At his feet were laid
Two forms reclining there in heavenly rest:
One held a book; his hand the other kissed
With awe; but while the younger daughter read
I saw the mournful drooping of his head,
I saw the sideway leaning of his breast
Like Theseus bending o'er the Minotaur.
Supported on one hand, he seemed to gaze
Into the face of some accursèd thing—
O Nation, self-enslaving more and more,
And thou, disastrous, nation-selling King,
Why trouble ye this blind man old in days?
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |