The Glass

When I am old! Oh Love, who well can sayWhether within a year, a month, a dayOr six times ten years that dead time shall comeWhen Hope is pale and wan Desire stands dumb,And Love though living, clasps with fingers cold,When we are old.

I think, perhaps, that Boundary's dim outlineWill not be crossed by these swift steps of mine,But while Desire is warm, and Hope still thrillsI shall go hence and look from unseen hillsOn mighty scrolls of centuries unrolled,I still not old.

To Be: unpierced by Vision. Break the Glass!But if fourscore and ten my years should pass,Witness, dear eyes! Mine, looking back, shall seeTowers of strength, and Peaceful Seas, and Thee,And Love, a fragrant cerement, my heart shall foldWhen I am old.