IN RUSSET AND SILVER by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE

THIS body, that was warm of old,
And supple, grows constrained and cold;
These hands are drawn and dry, these eyes
Less eager as they grow more wise.

The sunlight where I used to lie
And bathe as in a pool of sky,
Is now too violent and bold,
And makes my nerves ache. I grow old.

When I was young, and did not know
The blessedness of being so,
Stray glances set me on the rack,
And sent strange shivers down my back.

But now those very glances seem
To come from phantoms in a dream;
The unknown eyes that flashed, divine,
Must now be middle-aged, like mine.

And tho' I'm blithe and boisterous yet,
With all my cronies round me set,
There enters one who's really young,
And I grow gray. My knell has rung.

Then let me waste no whimpering mood
On languid nerves and refluent blood,
But at this parting of the ways
Take counsel with my length of days.

For this is health, it seems to me,
And not an ill philosophy,
To rise from life's rich board before
The host can point me to the door.

So, not forgetful of the past,
Nor sulking that it could not last;
Rememb'ring, like a song's lost notes,
The gleaming husks of my wild oats;

Not, priggish, glorying in a boast
That I have never lov'd nor lost;
Not, puritanic, with a flail
Destroying others' cakes and ale;

But, with new aims and hopes, prepare
To love earth less, and more haunt air;
And be as thankful as I can
To miss the beast that harries man.

Thank God, that, while the nerves decay
And muscles desiccate away,
The brain's the hardiest part of men,
And thrives till three-score years and ten;

That, tho' the crescent flesh be wound
In soft unseemly folds around,
The heart may, all the days we live,
Grow more alert and sensitive.

Then, thews and prickly nerves, adieu!
Thanks for the years I spent with you;
Gently and cheerfully we part;
Now I must live for brain and heart.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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