AT pension time when, worn and grey, We home together, you and I, They shall be ours, in elder way, Those gifts the Gods to-day deny. Our scanty pence, combined, shall buy A cottage on some westering bay, Where hangs the changing Cornish sky O'er cliffs where gulls and gannets prey. There down the vale of years we'll stray, Old fogies both, whose memories fly To ardent hours of manhood's May, When yet the sun of youth was high. Still, well-content, we shall not sigh For thwarted dreams of vain essay, But let our lost ambitions lie, And, rather, pluck the passing day. No more will 'Forms' impart dismay, Nor dull 'Returns' compel the eye, Unchecked, our sober pens shall play With Muses middle-aged and shy. Time and his fleeting hours go by, Behind us bulks the years' array, The halcyon age is looming nigh When we may rest—and pouch our pay—At pension time! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EVERYBODY KNOWS by DAVID IGNATOW MATE (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SUNSET by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE POET SPEAKS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BRER RABBIT, YOU'S DE CUTES' OF 'EM ALL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |