Two Pathways

There is always a possible pathway,Until our hair turns gray,By which the dreams of our golden youthMay really come some day,And there's always room for a fairy footTo flutter our own beside,And wish-horses, supple and strong enoughTo give our hopes a ride.There is always a possible pathwayUntil our hair is gray,By which our tardy heart's desireShall sometime find its way.There is always a certain pathwayBy which, when our hair is gray,We may slip along into silence,And never miss the way.And the dreams we dreamed, and the fame we missed,And the love that we never won,May be gathered there, to welcome us,When at last the journey's done.