you and I

are old; Old age hath yet his honor and his toil. 50 Death closes all; but something ere the end,

Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks; The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep

Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.

'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose

holds

To dwell in presence of immortal youth,
Immortal age beside immortal youth,
And all I was in ashes. Can thy love,
Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now,
Close over us, the silver star, thy guide,
Shines in those tremulous eyes that all with
tears

To hear me? Let me go; take back thy gift.

Why should a man desire in any way
To vary from the kindly race of men,
Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance
Where all should pause, as is most meet
for all?

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