University of Virginia Library

UNLOVELY AGE.

Unlovely Age, which makes dead things so fair,
Dims these dark eyes and bleaches this brown hair
That children fondled once and women chose
To toy with, while the gallant careless pose
Is gone for ever. Life, that bubbled out
And leapt the giant walls of fear or doubt
From overflowing fountains in me, strong,
And set to music as a bridal song,
Now freezes at its source. The joy, the spell
Of youth that rose the higher if it fell,
Sleeps on in sullen ashes with no fires
Which could be kindled by long-dead desires.
But I go on, as groping through a mist
With blind uncertain feet, and do exist—
To suffer. In each wrinkle of my brow
Is buried some true love, or broken vow,
Or unfulfilled grand resolution. Faith
Dies hard and last, a dulled but glorious wraith.
And yet, if this poor figure fail and bend,
Is there no beauty in the evening end
And hush and shadow? Is the dying day
Less comely, with the glory of decay
Than cold gray morning's pearls? And why should man
Be all unpleasing in his faded plan
And crumbling bonds of earth, and meet the eye
With but defects of sere mortality
Or death? I am a witness to the law
Laid upon every creature, star or straw,
And just fulfil my destiny and doom
Of being; and as I have borne the bloom
I now put on the garmenting of blight,
A sad discrowned but not dishonoured sight
To be re-cast in other worlds and made
More fitting and desirable, from shade
And long repose of Nature's night. I bow,
Because I must and also choose, my brow
That looks no more up to a kindred sky,
Beneath the pale and iron Necessity.
I pass a willing soul, and on my face
Obedience sets its crown of kingly grace.